


I'll Make You Understand

by stuckoncloud9



Series: Batman Forever (and Ever) [2]
Category: Batman (Movies 1989-1997), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Implied Harvey Dent/Edward Nigma - Freeform, M/M, Obsession, Pining, was its riddler super gay? also yes, was this movie objectively bad? yes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckoncloud9/pseuds/stuckoncloud9
Summary: Bruce Wayne turns down a project proposal from Wayne R&D researcher Edward Nygma. Surely this is an innocuous decision that won't have any long term consequences.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Bruce Wayne
Series: Batman Forever (and Ever) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968679
Comments: 37
Kudos: 49





	1. Brain Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have several other WIPs I should be writing, but then this clip from Batman Forever (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEH5J1fORTE&ab_channel=FlashbackFM) of Bruce meeting Edward came up in my Youtube Recommendations. A few hours later I had watched the whole movie through clips on Youtube (which is a terrible way to watch a movie), and ended up writing this. I have a few other scenes written up too, but I need to, like... write something connecting them... before I can post them as well.

“Mr. Wayne!”

“Hello Fred,” Bruce greeted warmly, extending a hand to the director of his Electronics Division. 

“Your inspections are a departmental highlight,” Fred Stickley declared, giving his hand an eager shake. 

Bruce somewhat doubted this, as the last two inspections had ended with him and his team leaving Stickley with several itemized lists of criticisms and notes for improvement. But if Fred wanted to lick the hand that feeds him, Bruce didn’t mind. So long as he could wash his hands afterwards. 

He listened politely as Stickley introduced him to the researchers he obviously considered the most impressive — none of the information was new, as his team had informed him beforehand of the details on all the projects Fred was likely to bring up. _All_ the details. Part of the inspection was seeing what information Stickley shared, and what he kept to himself. Bruce pulled off his glasses to clean them on his handkerchief, feigning absentmindedness as Fred listed project investments at top speed. 

“Bioremediation and alternative fuels... oh, Mr. Wayne, look at that time!” Stickley said suddenly, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and attempting to turn him around. “Perhaps we should get to R&D as soon as possible.”

Bruce, never one to be abruptly redirected, shifted his body weight to a dead stop before Sitckley could pull him away. He glanced back in the direction where his guide had been staring, and quickly found himself face to face with one of the most eccentric looking scientists he’d ever seen.

The man in front of him was wearing the same white lab coat as the rest of the division, but wore it over an electric green dress shirt and plaid brown pants that would have reduced Bruce’s fashion consultant to tears. His carefully and unflatteringly parted auburn length red hair was long enough to come down past his ears, and his gleaming olive eyes were nearly hidden behind the coke bottle lenses of his spectacles. 

The man wordlessly held out a hand, which Bruce took. He didn’t shake, however; just stood there, staring. 

“Hello, Mister...?” Bruce prompted. Stickley grimaced, looking a moment away from biting his nails.

“Ohhh, _Bruce Wayne_!” the man exclaimed, jittering with excitement.

Bruce grinned. “What a coincidence,” he said, “that’s my name too.”

The man laughed, looking flustered. “No, I meant — Nygma,” he clarified, “Edward Nygma. You hired me personally, just like I tell everyone.”

Bruce frowned, concerned that he had somehow forgotten what seemed like an exceedingly memorable man.

“We’ve never actually met,” Nygma said quickly, noticing the drop in Bruce’s cheerful expression. “But your name was on the hiring slip.” He grinned. “I have it,” he added, sounding like he would be willing to fetch it and come back if Bruce asked him to.

“Mind if I have that hand back, Ed?” Bruce asked, smiling.

Edward glanced down at where both his hands were still wrapped around Bruce’s. “Oh! Yes, of course. I’m sorry. It’s just that... you know, you’re my idol.” 

Fred gave Bruce an apologetic look, to which Bruce barely managed not to roll his eyes in response. As if Stickley hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes flattering him just as effusely. Nygma might not have been employing Fred’s corporate sense of social tact, but at least he was being genuine. 

Stickley seemed to take Bruce’s lack of reaction as an indication of agreement, and grabbed Nygma’s arm. He started to turn the scientist back towards his workstation, but was batted away by his suddenly furious employee.

“And _some_ people have been trying to keep us apart,” Nygma said, glaring at his supervisor.

“Back to work, _Edward_ ,” Fred hissed, reaching forward again — but Bruce blocked his arm, shaking his head reassuringly. 

“It’s okay,” he told Fred, then turned back to the scientist. “So, Mr. Nygma. What’s on your mind?”

Edward beamed. “Precisely!” he said. “What’s on all our minds?”

Bruce raised a curious eyebrow.

The scientist made a dramatic gesture, his fists raising up to his head and bursting open, falling away to his sides. “Brain waves,” he answered himself, giggling. 

Fred looked like he might pass out. Edward pushed him out of the way with an arm, then turned back to Bruce with a victorious grin. “The future of Wayne enterprises is _brain waves_!”

Nygma disappeared behind the metal shelving of his workshop, and Stickley immediately turned to Bruce with a pleading expression. “I cannot tell you how much I apologize, Mr. Wayne,” he said, grabbing Bruce’s shoulder again. “I swear, I personally terminated his project this morning!”

“It’s _okay_ ,” Bruce said again, at this point his reassuring tone being more for his own benefit as he struggled to keep himself from pulling out of Stickley’s grasp. 

“I have it!” Edward called from out of sight, and seconds later he was standing in front of Bruce with a strange piece of headgear composed of circuitry and metal wire. “Voila!”

Fred put his head in his hands. Bruce cocked his head, waiting for the strange man to explain.

Nygma took the hint. “My invention beams any TV signal directly into the human brain,” he said. His manic grin had dropped away, his expression turning much more serious and focused as he described the mechanics of his project. “By stimulating neurons — manipulating brain waves, if you will — this device makes audiences feel like they’re actually _inside_ the show!” 

Bruce took off his glasses. They were more for examining things far away, and Nygma was holding his device directly in front of him. Very, very directly in front of him.

Edward’s grin returned as Bruce examined his invention. “Why be brutalized by an uncaring world,” he asked, “when you can escape to a far superior fantasy?”

“Did you say ‘manipulating brain waves?’” Bruce asked, glancing up from the device.

“Well, um...” Nygma trailed off, then swallowed and set his face. “Yes.”

“Hmm,” Bruce said, leaning away and replacing his glasses.

“But,” Edward said, setting down the device and taking a step forward, “s-someone like you would never need it! Someone so intelligent, witty... charming.”

Bruce’s earpiece buzzed. “Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice called, flickering to life in his ear. “I’m afraid your attention is required at Arkham Asylum.”

He turned back to Nygma, who had moved only inches away from Bruce’s face. “I just need a bit of additional funding for human trials,” Nygma said. “But I’ve tested it on myself, it works, I _swear_ it works. Let me show you, _please_!” 

“It’s Two-Face, sir,” Alfred said in his ear. “He’s escaped. Commissioner Gordon and Arkham’s Dr. Meridian are desperate to speak with Batman.” 

Bruce placed a hand on the small of Edward’s back, leading him forward as Bruce made his way towards the exit. The man relaxed considerably, leaning in to Bruce’s touch. 

“Now listen, Ed,” Bruce said, turning towards Nygma. “I want a full set of technical schematics on this, okay?”

“Of course!” the scientist grinned, grabbing Bruce’s shoulder in his excitement. “I want you to know we’ll be full partners in this, Bruce. Two of a kind!” 

Bruce hit the down button on the elevator. “Sounds great,” he said as the doors slid open. “Call my assistant, Margaret. She’ll set something up, and we can make some decisions on this later.” He stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the first floor; but before the door could close, Nygma blocked it with his arm.

“Ah,” Edward said, glancing back at the fuming Stickley behind him. “That’s... not gonna be good for me.” 

“I’m a little busy right now, Mr. Nygma,” Bruce said.

“You’re about to be, anyway,” Alfred muttered in his ear.

“I need an answer now,” Edward hissed as Fred came up from behind him. “Tell _him_ that you’re approving my project. That we’re together on this, Bruce!” He glared at Stickley. “I deserve that.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m sorry Ed, then the answer’s no.”

Nygma stared at him, shocked, then closed his eyes in frustration. 

“Tampering with people’s brain waves, mind manipulation... it just raises too many questions,” Bruce explained. “Sorry.”

Nygma’s hand fell from where it blocked the door. Bruce replaced it with his own. “The division’s looking great, Fred,” he said to Stickley as the department head reached the elevator. “Tell everybody to keep up the good work.”

The furious Stickley seemed to be somewhat mollified by Bruce’s words, and he looked almost content as Bruce removed his arm from the doorway. But as the elevator doors moved forward, Bruce caught a glimpse of Nygma’s eyes opening with a new expression. The doors closed before Bruce could identify what it was.


	2. Question Mark Man

Bruce stared out the broken window where Fred Stickley had apparently leapt to his death. He hadn’t been particularly convinced by Fred’s suicide note, but when news of the head of the Electronic Division’s suicide had finally reached him, he’d gone through the security footage himself. Sure enough, the cameras confirmed that Stickley had been alone and unassisted when he’d made the decision to kill himself. 

He’d felt guilty, obviously — apparently Fred had jumped the same night as Bruce’s departmental inspection, meaning whatever the man had been going through, Bruce hadn’t even noticed. He cringed when he thought about how critical he’d been towards the man, unaware of his internal turmoil. He’d insisted, of course, on full coverage for the man’s family, even though the insurance company that provided benefits for Wayne Enterprises employees didn’t typically honor policies for suicides.

The police had canvased the scene the morning afterwards, but Bruce’s sense of personal responsibility had led him back to the Electronics Division anyway. There wasn’t much to see; the employees had been given time off in the wake of the tragedy, and the room was as dark and silent as it had been the night Stickley died. The shattered glass had long been swept up, and the hole in the window was covered by a clear plastic tarp. The custom window would be replaced by the time the researchers returned. 

All but one, anyway; apparently Edward Nygma had resigned not long after his rejected proposal. Bruce had been surprised; Nygma had clearly had his heart set on his virtual reality device, but he was a consulting researcher on at least five other ongoing projects in the division. Bruce had checked. Edward might be eccentric, but he was one of the most talented employees the Electronics Division had. After looking over Nygma’s record, Bruce had indeed remembered hiring him — his application was one of the first Bruce had approved after returning to Gotham and taking full control of his parent’s tech company.

However disappointed Bruce might have been at the loss of a valuable employee, however, he was _more_ concerned at where Nygma might go with his research. He could just imagine Clark’s reaction if Lexcorp suddenly developed a brainwashing device that had been prototyped at Wayne Enterprises. 

He walked over to Nygma’s work area, though he didn’t expect to find anything particularly revealing. Though every surface of Edward’s personal lab had been covered in clutter the day Bruce had met him, the place had been stripped completely clean since; maybe by a cleaning crew, though he thought the more likely culprit was Nygma himself. The man seemed too attached to his belongings to leave even junk behind. 

As he thought that, however, he noticed that Nygma’s waste bin hadn’t been emptied. Bruce briefly entertained the notion that he was above rooting through an ex-employee’s trash, then picked it up and dumped it out on the empty work table. 

The vast majority of Nygma’s trash was coffee filters and candy wrappers, which went a long way towards explaining his demeanor the other day. There were a few incomprehensible post-it notes — _Remember the Rip/Fold_ , _Tokyo ... Moon?_ and _Equatorial XX_ , the last of which had a loopy smile drawn under the X’s so it looked like a face. 

The only item of interest seemed to be a coffee stained hiring slip — dated five years ago, addressed to Edward Nygma, and signed by Bruce Wayne.

“Guess I’m not his idol anymore,” Bruce said to himself. He swept the trash off the counter and back into the bin, but pocketed the hiring slip.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice rang suddenly in his ear, almost causing Bruce to drop the trash can. 

Bruce took a deep breath. “I do have a phone, Alfred,” he said, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice.

“You don’t answer your phone,” Alfred replied. “Besides, this is important. It’s Dr. Meridian again.”

Bruce sighed. He still hadn’t managed to catch Two-Face; he’d almost died in the trap the madman had set the night before at Gotham’s First National Bank. He’d successfully rescued Harvey’s hostage from the bank vault, but in the process his cape had gotten a _little_ too acid-bitten for comfort. 

“Another escape?” he guessed. “Batman will be by Arkham as soon as possible.”

“Not an escape,” Alfred said. “And not Batman. She’s at the Manor, waiting for Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce stopped mid-step in his walk towards the elevator. “What? Why would she be at Wayne Manor?”

. . .

“I have to say, Mr. Wayne, I was quite concerned by the... love letters that your butler passed on to me.”

Bruce sighed, pouring Meridian a drink. “He really shouldn’t have bothered you with them, Doctor,” he said, passing her the glass. She accepted with a grateful nod. “I have a public address. Correspondence from the public can be quite bizarre.”

“Please, call me Chase,” she said, taking a sip and leaning back in her chair. “You really don’t feel threatened by these letters at all?”

“Chase,” Bruce corrected himself, raising his own cup of coffee in acknowledgement. “And no, I really don’t. You have to understand — I have my more flattering admirers, of course, but ever since Alfred’s allowed me to read my own mail, I’ve been well aware that people have... strange ideas of what makes polite correspondence. At least once a month I have someone in my mailbox claiming to be my parents’ murderer, and those are the crazies that _aren’t_ threatening me personally.”

“Oh,” Chase said, setting down her glass. “I... didn’t realize, I apologize.” She looked chagrined, but something behind her blue eyes glimmered with curiosity. For an Arkham psychiatrist, it was impressively restrained. 

“But still,” she continued, picking up the letters from the table. “These aren’t from your garden variety sadistic pervert.”

“There are _garden variety_ sadistic perverts?” Bruce asked, feigning incredulousness. He could tell what she meant, though. His typical creepy fan mail was just pen on paper, with the occasional defaced photograph added for flavor. These were... creative wasn’t the _right_ word, exactly, but there was something to Chase’s original description. Love letters. They had a certain sentimental, homemade valentine-like quality. If valentines were green. And vaguely threatening.

The first was the face of a man with a pull-out tongue; it declared, in words clearly clipped from a magazine, “If you look at the numbers on my face, you won’t find 13 anyplace.” 

“A clock,” Chase said, answering the unspoken question. 

“Ooh, terrifying,” Bruce said. The glare she gave him shut him up. She opened the next card, which had a question mark emblazoned on the outside. On the inside, a carefully cut out photo of Bruce’s face spoke through a word bubble.

“Tear one off and scratch my head,” she read, then pulled the tab at the bottom of the card. The picture shifted to an x-ray of a skull with its own message. “What once was red is black instead.”

“A match,” Bruce guessed. She glanced up at him, surprised. “What?” Bruce protested. “I do run a company, you know. I’m not a complete airhead. Besides, obviously my secret admirer thought I’d get it.”

“Maybe,” she said, unimpressed. “But I wouldn’t hold their opinion of you in such high esteem, Mr. Wayne. From where I sit, this letter writer is a total wacko.”

“Bruce,” he corrected. “And wacko, wow. That’s your professional diagnosis?” 

“I have to _meet_ a patient to diagnose them, Bruce,” Chase said, steepling her fingers together. “But if I had to guess, I’d say your secret admirer may suffer from obsessional syndrome with potential homicidal tendencies.”

“Homicidal?” Bruce asked. “Let me guess — the skull.”

“Mmm,” she said, pushing the tab back so that the card once again displayed Bruce’s face. “This person is clearly obsessed with you, Bruce. Their only escape may be to purge the fixation.”

“And becoming obsessed with someone else isn’t an option?” Bruce asked. “You know, Oliver Queen has just as much money as I do. And _he_ has a tan.” 

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I think you know more about obsession than you let on.”

“I-”

“Bruce, you have to see this!” Dick cried, barreling into the parlor. He jumped over the couch in his rush, then paused when he noticed the woman who was sitting on it. “Oh, uh...”

“Dr. Chase Meridian,” she said, unphased. She raised her whiskey glass for another sip. “Please, continue.”

Dick seemed to struggle for a moment between whether or not it was appropriate to shake her hand in this situation, but eventually his panic won out and he turned back to Bruce. 

“It’s Two-Face!” he said, grabbing the remote off of a side table and turning on the TV. “He’s robbing Brixman Jewelers with—”

“—a green-suited menace,” Summer Gleeson finished for him as he flicked the channel to WGOB News. “The Brixman Family is estimating that millions in diamonds have been stolen.”

Green-suited was accurate, though Bruce wasn’t sure it was how he would have described the figure prancing around Harvey Dent in the lifted security camera footage. The cane-wielding man _was_ wearing some form of lime green suit jacket, but it was covered in black question marks, and his matching pants were too close-fitting to be anything but tights. 

Perhaps more attention grabbing — if that was even possible — was his bright pink hair. The color was revealed to the cameras when he tossed away his green derby hat, which was _also_ emblazoned with a question mark, and replaced it with a sparkling diamond tiara.

“Absolutely fascinating,” Dr. Meridian said. She was staring at the screen with the kind of expression you’d expect a mad scientist to have when viewing a guinea pig display at a pet store.

“The two criminals left Brixman’s thirty minutes ago, and our police correspondent believes that they are continuing their rampage throughout the city,” Gleeson said from the screen. “Where will Two-Face and his partner strike nex—”

The television’s power died as Bruce turned it off. Dr. Meridian turned to glare at him.

“Sorry,” Bruce said. “But I promised Dick that I’d help him with his history homework tonight, and if he gets too excited over jewelry heists and whatnot then we’ll never get anything done.”

Dick nodded. “It’s about the Ming Dynasty, and Bruce has, like, _five_ vases from then, so I think he’ll be able to figure it out.”

Dr. Meridian kicked back the rest of her drink in one go, then rose to her feet. “Well, far be it from me to get in the way of a boy’s education,” she said, grabbing her purse off the floor. “Besides, I think I’m going to get a head start on a new patient profile. Desperate need for attention, violent mood swings, potentially codependent relationship with patient 0322...” 

She glanced down at Bruce's letters. “...May suffer from obsessional syndrome with potential homicidal tendencies.”

“What, you think question mark man sent these?” Bruce asked. “What would he want with me?”

“Hmm,” Chase hummed, picking up the card and pulling the tab. She dropped it, skull side up, in Bruce’s lap. “I imagine that’s the question, Bruce.”

She walked to the parlor door, waving over her shoulder as she left. “Better hurry up with that homework, gentlemen. Wouldn’t want it to get away from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is me attempting to squeeze a significant portion of Batman Forever, much of which does not take place from Bruce's perspective, into a single chapter. If you want to see the actual movie scenes that this is supposedly referencing, here they are:
> 
> 1\. Edward murdering his boss (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAjgzwFHXd4&ab_channel=FlashbackFM). After this scene he edits the security camera footage to make it look like suicide using his "virtual reality technology." When I sent this chapter to my beta reader, though, they assumed that Edward had used his device to MAKE his boss commit suicide, which I thought was a more interesting explanation. You can read it either away, but yeah. Edward killed his boss.
> 
> 2\. Two-Face tricks Batman into getting locked in a bank vault acid deathtrap (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnLtMZdSmqE&ab_channel=FlashbackFM). This one is pretty self-explanatory, but the hostage in this scene is DEEPLY hilarious. 
> 
> 3\. Bruce gets riddle-interpretation help from Dr. Meridian (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ro1FR9vdK1g&ab_channel=FlashbackFM). Obviously this was changed significantly for the fic, but the riddles (which Bruce does describe as "love letters") are the same, and even though it's not shown, Dr. Meridian still definitely has a punching bag in her office.
> 
> 4\. Riddler and Two-Face rob a jewelry store and then Riddler wears a tiara (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkNaUSsoa7k&t=83s&ab_channel=FlashbackFM). This scene is the first 1 minute and 23 seconds of the video, with a weird interlude of Dick karate chopping his laundry (Batman Forever is a strange movie). The robbery scene and the tiara are exactly the same in the fic as they are in the movie. Why change perfection.


	3. Phone Etiquette

“A doctor, huh?” Dick asked from the passenger seat of the Batmobile.

“Alfred invited her over,” Bruce replied. “I can’t tell if he’s trying to set me up with a date or a therapist.”

“Hopefully he’s not aiming for both,” Dick said, flipping through the screen where the Batcomputer was monitoring Gotham’s various police channels. “I’m guessing therapists have rules about that.” 

“Most of them do,” Bruce agreed. “But if he wanted to find exceptions, then Arkham would probably be the place to look.”

Dick looked like he wanted to reply to that, but was interrupted by a flashing light on the monitor. “There! Crime in progress.”

“Two-Face and... the Riddler?” Bruce read off the screen, frowning.

“I guess that must be our _mystery_ man,” Dick laughed. 

Bruce stared at him.

“Because he’s covered in question marks?” Dick said. “Mystery? No?”

Bruce turned back to look at the road.

“Yeesh,” Dick said. “Tough crowd. We close?”

“Almost there,” Bruce said. He swerved the Batmobile around, making a hairpin turn onto the necessary backstreet. When they passed by the employee entrance of a large grey building covered in graffiti, he slammed the breaks.

“No cop cars,” Dick observed.

“Sirens coming closer, though,” Bruce said, kicking open the locked door. “With any luck, we’ll have wrapped up these eccentrically dressed maniacs by the time Gordon and his force arrives.” 

“Can we really talk, though?” Dick asked as they raced down the empty hallway towards the distant sound of human activity. “Given what we’re wearing, I mean.” 

“ _I’m_ wearing black,” Bruce said. “Which is stealthy, practical, and intimidating to the criminal element. Your decision to have Alfred incorporate bright colors into all your costumes is your own prerogative.”

“You know what they say,” Dick said as they reached a door off the end of the hall. Light and noise emerged from the crack below. “You can take the boy out of the circus...”

He pushed the door open, and the room immediately fell silent. Every corner was full of eclectically dressed people of various shapes and sizes, and Bruce scanned the crowd carefully for the perps they were looking for. 

Unfortunately, neither Two-Face or his green-garbed accomplice were anywhere to be seen, and Bruce was forced to admit to himself that he and Dick had just burst into a completely non-criminal all-night hair salon. Or the non-criminal dressing room for a drag show. Or both. 

“A little off the ears, Batman?” asked a short woman, breaking the silence. She waggled her Barber’s shears, drawing a chorus of laughter from the gathered crowd.

“I... appreciate the offer,” he said, earning some of his own chuckles from the crowd. “But I think I’m alright.” He gave the woman a nod as he turned and left the room. Giggles mixed with murmurs of disappointment as the door closed behind them.

“So... you think ‘Riddler’ might have hacked the police channels?” Dick asked as they sheepishly walked back down the hallway. 

“It’s starting to seem possible.”

Dick glanced backwards. “Hey, you think this is where he got his hair done?”

Bruce paused and followed Dick’s gaze. “Well,” he said. “No harm in asking.”

. . .

“I do believe Dr. Meridian was correct, sir.”

“How so?” Bruce asked, glancing up as Alfred walked over with the morning mail. 

Alfred handed him a dark green envelope emblazoned with a neon question mark. “You and Batman appear to have a common enemy,” he said.

Dick crossed over from the couch near the fireplace to Bruce’s Ottoman as the man tore open his mystery correspondence. 

“Woah,” Dick said as Bruce opened the card. A pop-up scene sprung to life, a small army of knights holding aloft blood-stained medieval weaponry in front of a technicolor castle background. “These are just getting fancier and fancier, huh?”

“If we didn’t know that he’s recently been quite busy, I’d assume our obsessive friend had come into an exceptional amount of free time,” Alfred said, sitting down in the armchair across from the couch.

“The eight of us go forth, not back,” Bruce read, “to protect our King from a foe’s attack.”

“Chess pawns,” Alfred guessed. “The knights make it a little obvious, actually. Is he even _trying_ to stump you?”

“It’s not just the individual riddles,” Bruce said. “They’re supposed to say something together.”

Dick furrowed his brow. “Clocks, matches, and chess pawns? Maybe it’s just me, Bruce, but I’m not seeing it.”

“Another hair salon, perhaps?” Alfred asked.

“Very funny,” Bruce said. “But no. When we showed Gloria a picture, she was quite convinced that Riddler’s hair had been done at home, not by a professional.”

“It was quite the burn,” Dick informed Alfred. “If he’d actually been where he was supposed to be, he probably would have surrendered on the spot.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bruce said. “I have a feeling this ‘Riddler’ probably won’t go down so easily. In fact—”

Bruce’s cell phone rang. 

“—In fact,” Bruce tried continuing, but stopped when Alfred glared at him. He sighed and picked up the phone, checking the name. Doughtery. The Wayne Enterprises Director of Marketing.

“How can I help you?” Bruce asked as he accepted the call. Alfred smiled approvingly from his armchair. 

“If you have to ask, then you obviously haven’t been paying enough attention to do anything helpful,” Doughtery said brusquely. If Bruce hadn’t hired him personally, he would wonder how the man had ever gotten a job selling things. “Turn on WGOB, Wayne.”

Bruce obeyed, gesturing wordlessly for Dick to hand him the remote. “What am I looking for?” he asked.

“God, you really haven’t been paying attention,” Doughtery said. “Don’t you read the financial section of the Gotham Gazette?”

“I’ve been somewhat distracted by the criminal activity on the front page,” Bruce said, turning on the television and flicking through the channels. 

“Well, prepare for something much worse.”

“Than criminals?” Bruce asked, incredulous.

“Oh, considerably,” Doughtery said. “Competition.” 

“—and now _you_ can be a part of the action!” 

Bruce paused, having reached WGOB. The broadcast seemed to be of a figure standing at a podium in front of a bustling factory. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the figure declared, “let me tell you my vision! The joy of 3-D entertainment, in _your_ living room!” 

As he spoke, he held up a familiar looking device. “The Box, in every home in America... and one day, the world!” 

With his free hand, the figure raised a fist up to his head, then let it burst open dramatically, his arm swinging to his side.

“Nygma,” Bruce said.

Doughtery made an annoyed sound of affirmation. “Isn’t he from _our_ Electronics Division?” he asked. “ _Why_ do we not have a contract preventing former employees from setting up shop in Gotham? The least he could do is take this bullshit to Metropolis.”

The Director of Marketing hung up as the feed switched to Summer Gleeson. “Edward Nygma’s 3-D Box has become the rage in Gotham almost overnight,” she said. “One downtown electronics store experienced rioting when customers discovered it had sold out. Critics have claimed that the Nygmatech device is turning Gothamites into zombies, but Edward Nygma just shrugs: ‘that’s what they said when TV was invented.’”

The show cut to commercial. 

“Wow,” Dick said, glancing up at Bruce. “Are we getting one?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've watched Batman Forever, at this point it's probably obvious that I am not doing this movie's origin of Robin as a 25 year old college student whose family (including a brother???) is murdered by Two-Face. This is just normal Dick Grayson, who has already been Robin for a while, and does not need to be benched by Batman because of his urge to kill. I guess he can still be a 25 year old college student with a dead brother if you want, though.
> 
> Anyway, scenes this uses:
> 
> 1\. Riddler hacks... something... In order to make Batman go to a fake crime scene (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZtFEc5PVaQ&ab_channel=McClarverProductions). This didn't make it into the actual movie, which is why in the theatrical release it looks like Batman just doesn't bother trying to stop Two-Face and Riddler during their crime spree. Which is kind of funny, but also, very out of character!
> 
> 2\. Bruce gets a new fan letter, and news of Edward Nygma's 3-D Box is broadcasted on TV (https://youtu.be/xkNaUSsoa7k?t=84). The chess pawn riddle pop-up is actually quite the glow-up from the messier valentines from before, which I assume is because Edward recently came into a significant amount of money. Also, kudos to Eddie for literally building his supervillain lair in plain sight on top of his mind control factory. Really taking it the extra mile. The fact that this movie's Bruce needs multiple riddles to figure out who Riddler is and where he's staying is kind of insane, but he is also adorably snarky and looks very snappy in glasses, so I will forgive him. Val Kilmer was Bob Kane's favorite Batman, and he was RIGHT.


	4. The Sincerest Form of Flattery

“ _Oh_ , there’s Bruce Wayne! BRUCIE!”

Bruce quickly adopted the “I’m happy to see you but you need to be a respectable distance away from me or I will be much less happy very quickly” smile he always used on the paparazzi. 

“Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wayne!” a reporter cried, making it from the other side of the room to directly in front of Bruce in record time. “What do you have to say about rumors of a Nygmatech takeover of Wayne Enterprises?”

“What about how Nygmatech stock is outselling Wayne Enterprises two to one?” asked another.

“Are you yesterday’s news, Bruce?” asked a woman who wasn’t a reporter at all, just a socialite who seemed to be enjoying the drama.

“Yes, yes, and yes!” said a familiar voice. “Do forgive the enthusiasm of the press, _Brucie._ They were just wondering what it feels like to be outsold, outclassed, outcoiffed, and.... well, generally outdone in every way!”

Bruce looked up to see the smug face of Edward Nygma, though the man looked almost nothing like the bespectacled redhead who wouldn’t let go of his hand in Wayne R&D. In fact, he was looking considerably more like the man Bruce saw in the mirror every morning. His long hair had been trimmed and dyed into a short brunette cut, his clothing could have come right from Bruce’s closet, and he even seemed to have acquired a matching mole on his left cheek, which Bruce was _certain_ had not been there before. Maybe Nygma was... slightly less over him than he’d initially assumed. 

“Hello Edward,” Bruce said, extending a hand to his copycat host. “Congratulations,” he added with a smile as Nygma accepted the handshake. “Nice party. You look great.”

Edward made a sound somewhere in between a choke and a laugh, immediately dropping Bruce’s hand. “Wit,” he said through a painfully wide grin. “Good.”

He turned to Bruce’s date for the evening, Dr. Meridian. “And you are?” he asked.

“Chase,” she said, smiling politely and offering a handshake as well.

Instead, Edward leaned down to kiss her hand. “And what a grand pursuit you must be,” he said, his voice several octaves lower than its normal pitch.

To her credit, Meridian didn’t so much as blink in surprise. Edward’s white-dressed female companion, however, had to bite her lip to hide her amusement. 

Bruce moved forward, extending a hand. “I’m Bruce Wayne, miss...?”

“Oh,” she laughed, accepting it. Her strawberry blonde curls bounced as she took the opportunity to lean forward considerably. “You can call me anything you want.” 

Edward coughed, and the still unnamed woman jumped on his arm with a wink in Bruce’s direction. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Edward said in a loud voice, drawing everyone’s attention to himself. Apparently, now that Bruce had arrived, the party was starting in earnest. “The future!”

He walked over to the technological display area that had been set up in the corner of the Gotham Ritz’s ballroom. “My new, improved Box offers fully interactive holographic fantasies!” he announced, gesturing upward towards a screen placed prominently above a curtain.

The silhouette of a man behind the backlit, neon green drapery placed Nygma’s gizmo over his head as the screen above came to life. Bruce slipped his glasses out of his pocket to watch as the man’s “holographic fantasy” — a rather pedestrian tropical affair with drinks, leis, and women in revealing bikinis — was displayed for the audience below.

“Edward, you’re dashing _and_ a genius,” said the drama-loving socialite who Bruce was starting to think might be on Nygma’s payroll. “Just how do you create these images, hon?”

“That, my dear, is my little secret,” Edward said with a grin at Bruce. Behind him, another screen flickered to life with the fantasy of one of the party’s diamond-encrusted heiresses, whose deepest desire seemed to be... larger, more numerous diamonds. 

“Fully interactive holographs?” Dr. Meridian said, successfully managing to sound bored despite her obvious professional interest. 

“Apparently so,” Bruce said. Edward and his female friend left the rest of the crowd to rejoin Bruce and Chase. Bruce watched as Edward pulled out a pair of glasses as well, though, to Bruce’s absolute lack of surprise, they were closer to Bruce’s pair in style than what Edward had been wearing at Wayne R&D. 

“Only a high frequency carrier wave beamed directly into the brain could create such images,” Bruce said, both to Dr. Meridian and their host. 

“Yeah, and you _wish_ you thought of it,” Nygma said, dropping his date’s arm as he moved into Bruce’s personal space. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. He remembered the development of Nygma’s box.... slightly differently.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Brucie,” Nygma said, leaning in. “Step inside, give it a try!”

Bruce cocked his head to the side. “I thought I was too intelligent, witty, and charming to need holographic fantasies.”

“I did say that,” Edward said slowly, his smile almost slipping before resuming in full force. “ _Before_ I showed you and everyone else in Gotham what you’re missing.”

“The patent for the Box?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” Edward said, his tooth-gritted grin looking almost painful. “The patent. For the Box.”

Dr. Meridian glanced between the two men, looking fascinated. Nygma’s nameless female companion was biting her lip again, barely able to contain her amusement. 

“Edward,” Bruce said, pulling off his glasses and tucking them into his jacket pocket. Nygma mimicked the motion. “If you can introduce images _into_ the mind, what prevents you from extracting images _out_ of the mind?”

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Nygma laughed, his smile quirking up in more genuine amusement. “Too timid to try my machine? Just say so!” 

He moved smoothly away from Bruce, turning to Dr. Meridian instead. “Shall we dance?” Edward said, his voice dropping to baritone again. He offered a hand dramatically.

Meridian’s gaze flickered down to the pro-offered limb with the kind of piercing judgement that Bruce had personally witnessed shatter the self-esteem of even her most aggravating male colleagues. But either Nygma didn’t notice the expression or he had the ego to spare, because he didn’t flinch an inch. 

After giving Bruce a glance that seemed to communicate her extreme enjoyment of their date thus far, she took Nygma’s hand and let him twirl her away from Bruce’s side. As they spun away towards the dance floor, Edward leaned so far backwards he almost collided with Bruce’s shoulder, giving the billionaire a very self-satisfied smirk.

After noting that Dr. Meridian was _definitely_ leading by the time the pair made it to the throng of other dancers, Bruce turned to the other woman present. She didn’t seem especially distressed that her date had disappeared. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Bruce asked. 

She nodded. “Bay Breeze, please,” she said, leaning against the column holding up the curtains. 

Bruce smiled politely, then left in the direction of the bar. Once he’d gotten lost in the crowd, however, he discreetly snuck behind the curtains at the borders of the room, making his way towards one of the only unoccupied Nygmatech displays. 

He quickly found the control panel, and began searching for a way to nullify the machine so that he could safely examine the inside. Then he felt someone approach from behind him.

Bruce whirled, expecting Nygma — and was surprised to instead find his diminutive date.

“The bar’s over there,” she said with a knowing grin, gesturing over her shoulder.

Bruce tried to look chagrined. It wasn’t hard. “I’m sorry Miss, I was just—”

“Oh, you don’t need to explain,” she said, laughing dismissively. “Eddie can be such a brat sometimes. If I were you, I wouldn’t want him to know I was curious about his machine either.” 

“You’re very understanding,” Bruce said, smiling apologetically. 

“No, I’m just happy to break the monotony of ‘Bruce Wayne this, Bruce Wayne that’ with the real thing,” she said, then joined him in peering over the control panel. “Looking for anything specific?”

“Just a way to turn it off,” he admitted. “Like you said, I’m curious, but...”

“You don’t want a screen to record your deepest fantasies?” she said.

“Something like that.” 

The woman nodded, her grin turning mischievous. “I can’t blame you. Eddie would, though.”

She reached into the machine, pulling out a small cylindrical tube. The lights on the control board died instantly. 

“To be perfectly honest,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she dropped the tube into Bruce’s waiting hand, “I think that might have been the point of this whole party.”

“I appreciate the head’s up,” Bruce said, dropping the cylinder into his pocket.

“No problem, gorgeous,” she said, waving behind her as she walked away in the direction of the bar. “Just put it back when you’re done, will you? Eddie will be ever so sore if he thinks someone was tampering with his merchandise.”

Bruce waved back before pushing open the metal door hiding the machine’s inner infrastructure. Without power, the room was pitch black. He pulled a small flashlight out from the lining of his belt and examined his surroundings. 

The machinery around him was complex, but it was still reminiscent of what little of Nygma’s designs he’d witnessed that fateful day of Wayne R&D. He pulled out a small camera and started snapping pictures of Nygma’s invention — if he could compare it to the blueprints that had been initially filed at Wayne Enterprises, he might be able to figure out if Nygma had made any nefarious changes to his design.

Suddenly, Bruce’s surroundings came to life. Circuitry hummed, lights flashed, and a computerized voice boomed in a glitching monotone.

“G-Good _evening_ , Mr. Wayne.” 

He sighed. “Fuck.”

. . . 

Bruce opened his eyes. 

There was screaming. Even in his current state of disorientation, he could recognize that much. It was the sound of chaos; shattering glass, falling metal....

Gunshots.

He threw open the door of Nygma’s contraption, ducking behind the curtains until he found a window. He flicked on his earpiece as he unlatched his makeshift exit. 

“Alfred, I’m going to need my _other_ suit,” he said, scanning the view of Gotham’s skyline. “I’m on the west side of the building — Market Street, I believe. Are you still on the lot?”

“Not anymore,” Alfred’s voice came over the line. “I take it the party’s going poorly, sir?”

“You have no idea,” Bruce said, swinging his legs over the window ledge. Unfortunately, there didn’t appear to be a fire escape anywhere in sight. Bruce sighed, and tensed his body carefully before leaping to the ledge of one of the lower windows. Edward just _had_ to have his party on the top floor, didn’t he? 

As he jumped from one window to another, he saw the unmistakable shape of the Bentley approaching from up the street. He dropped to the sidewalk below just as Alfred pulled up next to the building. 

“You know,” the aging butler said as he pulled open the car door, “it’s times like this that I wonder if Buckingham Palace is still hiring.” 

“Would a raise help?” Bruce asked as he slid into the Bentley, opening the compartment that held his change of clothes.

Alfred scoffed. “Just try not to break too many limbs this time, Master Bruce.” 

Bruce pulled the cowl over his head. “Three at the most, cross my heart. Would you mind grabbing me the grapple out of the trunk?” he said, turning back to glance at Alfred. “I’d really prefer not to get back up the same way I came down.”

Five minutes later, Bruce was crashing through the Ritz’s skylight. There were _some_ advantages to having a party on the top floor.

“It’s the Bat!” screamed the gang’s unmistakable leader, Harvey Dent. Two-Face dropped the two flutes of champagne he’d been double-fisting, reaching instead for his twin pistols. “ _Get him!_ ” he bellowed to his men. His female companion, a redhead dressed entirely in black, shot upwards with her tommy gun.

Bruce dodged and kicked out as he fell, landing on one of Harvey’s goons and then rolling forward. He dragged the man who broke his fall with him, tossing him at one of his cohorts as he twisted backwards to avoid the ensuing gunfire. The two-toned masks covering the faces of the gang members didn’t seem to be doing their marksmanship any favors, though in their defense, Bruce wasn’t exactly an easy target to hit. 

He was punching a criminal into one of the buffet tables when he noticed Dr. Meridian out of the corner of his eye, kicking angrily at one of the gangsters while another snuck up on her from behind. Her dance partner didn’t look too concerned with helping her, apparently too busy shooting annoyed looks at Two-Face from across the room. 

Bruce leapt forward, using one of the ballroom’s remaining chandeliers to propel him towards the blonde psychiatrist. He crashed into her unseen attacker, and Chase ducked gracefully out of the way as Bruce swung him into the gangster she’d already disarmed.

“Well, I think I can say with relative certainty that this is the most interesting date I’ve been on in a while,” Dr. Meridian said, brushing herself off. “Are you alright, Edward?”

“He’s ruining my big party!” Nygma seethed, still glaring at Two-Face. “Is he _insane_?”

“Yes,” Bruce and Chase said at the same time. 

Edward huffed, then turned to Bruce. “You’re supposed to be a hero, right? Shouldn’t you be more focused on _saving civilians_ than showing off by kicking criminals?” he pointed towards the Nygmatech display in the corner of the ballroom. “Bruce Wayne never came out of the Box he was examining! If any of that gunfire hit the machinery...”

His expression had turned slightly hysterical. Bruce would have been more touched by his concern if it hadn’t confirmed what he’d suspected — that Nygma had somehow known Bruce was investigating the Box, and turned it on while he was inside.

“Oh, God,” Dr. Meridian said, her composure failing for the first time that night. “Some date I’ve been. Letting Wayne get fried by one of my own patients...” 

She turned to Bruce. “Please, apprehend Mr. Dent. I’ll make sure Bruce is okay.” She ran off without waiting for a response, hiking up her dress as she raced through the crowd. Bruce took her advice, scanning the crowd for Two-Face.

“You know, his entrance was good,” Nygma said absentmindedly as Bruce spotted his quarry trying to exit the building. “But yours was better.”

Bruce ran after Two-Face. “The difference?” Nygma shouted from behind him. “ _Showmanship_!”

He sighed as he knocked a Two-Face goon out of his way. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riddler is really like this in this scene! This movie is insane. Anyway.
> 
> 1\. Edward Nygma's party/tech expo scene (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQJg4jMni4w&ab_channel=FlashbackFM). Fun fact: the drama-loving socialite in this is played by Bob Kane's wife, Elizabeth Sanders-Kane. Eddie's "date" gets an extended scene here because in the movie Bruce just immediately walks into a trap with zero critical thinking, and I feel like he requires slightly more manipulation than that. Her name is Sugar; she's Two-Face's henchwoman/girlfriend alongside Spice. They are incredible and I honestly love them as much as Query and Echo, who are the gold bar of henchwomen for me. Their intro scene (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6fYB0AubMQ&ab_channel=FlashbackFM) is also the scene where Riddler and Two-Face meet for the first time, which is deeply hilarious, and very gay on Riddler's part.
> 
> 2\. Two-Face crashes Edward's party (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zu4LHJN92cw&ab_channel=FlashbackFM). Trouble in Twiddler paradise??? Their schemes don't fully come together until Riddler uses the Box to find out that they're actually obsessed with the same guy. Which does make me wonder what Riddler's plan was for Bruce BEFORE he found out he was Batman. The riddle clues in the mail are established as him just being a weirdo who wants Bruce to deduce his identity, and throwing a party to lure the person you're obsessed with into a device that will tell you their deepest secrets tracks as well, but like... where was this going??? Presumably there was a dramatic climax to this plot, because of course there was, but the one that plays out in the movie is obviously re-tailored to fit Batman. Anyway, Two-Face double-fisting champagne is hilarious.


	5. Identity Crisis

“—Batman you are _literally_ on fire, oh my God, stop moving so I can put you out.”

Bruce groaned. “Did Two-Face get away?”

“Yeah, he bailed pretty quickly when you jumped dramatically out of the raging inferno,” Dick said, using his cape to smother the flames. “Which, you know, was pretty intimidating, so can’t blame him for that. I’m guessing he’d be way less intimidated if he’d hung around long enough to see you collapse, though.”

Satisfied that Bruce was no longer actively burning, Dick held out an arm to pull his mentor to his feet. Bruce took it, giving Dick a grateful clap on the back when he was upright. He glanced around the subterranean death trap that Two-Face had built in the street below the Gotham Ritz. 

“He’s getting very good at these,” Bruce observed, his voice about as wary as it was impressed.

“Which is weird, because I’m guessing ‘Introduction to Death Traps’ wasn’t a course available in the Criminal Law program at Gotham U,” Dick said, kicking suspiciously at one of the hoses that had pumped the room full of gasoline. “You think there’s some kind of supervillain night school teaching them this stuff?”

“If such a thing existed, it _would_ be in Gotham,” Bruce guessed, then peered up at the tunnel he’d slid down to get here. “I have to get back to the party— or what’s left of it, anyway. Dr. Meridian’s looking for Bruce Wayne in the wreckage.”

“You do that,” Dick said as both of them reached for their grapples. “Check back in with Alfred, will you? He was pretty worried when he called me in.”

Bruce nodded and the pair launched themselves upward, the retraction on their grapple guns drawing them back to the surface. Dick gave Bruce a wave before re-aiming his at a nearby building, flying off into the night.

Bruce turned on his communicator. “Alfred—”

“Waiting for you in the alley at 5th and Loam,” Alfred replied immediately, sounding relieved. 

That wasn’t far from his current position. Bruce pointed his grapple upwards, ignoring the sound of approaching police cars. Normally he would stay to explain the situation to Gordon, but he didn’t want to unduly worry Dr. Meridian.

“I just finished the emotionally devastating work of purposefully wrinkling your suit,” Alfred continued as Bruce soared towards his destination. “So with any luck, people will believe you when you claim you got lost in the rampaging crowd.”

Bruce smirked. “Your sacrifice is appreciated, Alfred.”

“I should very well think so,” Alfred huffed. “Laundry is difficult enough with Master Richard in the house. The boy thinks he’s helping... he’s not helping.”

Bruce landed in the alley behind the Bentley. To his credit, Alfred didn’t even flinch at the sudden motion. “Your crumpled formal wear is the backseat, sir,” he said. “And your phone has been ringing for at least the last fifteen minutes.”

Opening the car door, Bruce found his phone was no longer ringing, but appeared to be in the process of taking a voicemail. He quickly picked it up, accepting the call. “Chase?” he said immediately.

“—and if he _has_ killed you, I don’t know what— _BRUCE_?” came Edward’s voice from the other end. “Oh my God, Bruce. I thought there was a 50% chance you’d be a s’more right now. I can’t _do_ anything with Wayne flambé, you numbskull!”

The last sentence didn’t actually sound directed towards him, so Bruce swallowed his annoyed retort. “I’m fine, Edward. Although you could have saved yourself the concern by _not_ turning on your machine while I was inside.”

“What does my machine have to— oh!” Edward broke into frantic giggling. “Right, yes. My machine. Danger. You.” Then he paused, his voice regaining its previous concern. “Er, you don’t have any brain damage, do you? The Box _did_ get hit by a stray gunshot... hey, do you have a headache? Any nausea or vomiting?” The man leaned in far too close to the receiver. “WHO’S PRESIDENT RIGHT NOW? ”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Not sure, Ed. Nixon? I do have this weird grey liquid coming out of my ears, though.”

Edward shrieked. “You have WH— oh,” he paused, sniffing disdainfully. “I understand. You think you’re being funny. Well, I don’t see how it’s _my_ fault you couldn’t resist the allure of investigating my ingenious machine,” he said, sounding smug. “I hope you realize that in doing so, you’ve been forced to acknowledge my brilliance?”

“Your intelligence was never in question, Edward,” Bruce said. “Just your morality.” 

“Oh, you know _all_ about morality, don’t you Brucie?” Edward said, giggling maliciously. The scientist’s sneer was almost audible through the phone. “It’s a terrific way to excuse _punching down_ at anyone you see as beneath you, isn’t it? And everyone just cheers you on! Well this was _my night_ to be cheered on, Bruce!” Edward yelled into the phone, his amusement gone. “And you had to go and _ruin it_ by _ALMOST DYING_!”

At this point Bruce had almost entirely changed back into his ruffled formal wear, and he was getting more than a little tired of this conversation. “It’s not _my_ fault that Two-Face attacked your party, Edward,” he said, carefully folding the batsuit back into its hidden compartment under the seats.

“It— oh, no, no,” replied Edward, now giggling nervously again. “No, it is _definitely_ not anyone’s fault that Two-Face attacked the party! Especially not you, or — logically extending from you — anyone you might converse with. No, definitely entirely Two-Face’s fault, and no one else’s.”

Bruce pulled the phone a safe distance away from his ear as Edward growled loudly into the receiver. 

“What did that bifurcated hunk of burning manflesh think he was doing, anyway?” Edward demanded, as if Bruce somehow knew the answer. “How hard is it to just SIT STILL and not ALMOST RUIN EVERYTHING for someone who’s done nothing but—”

Bruce pulled the phone even further away from his ear as it blared with a scream of frustration, followed by what sounded like someone kicking something metal and then hissing in pain. It wasn’t like Edward had seemed exceptionally stable at his Nygmatech reception, but this phone call was one of the most inexplicably confusing exchanges Bruce had ever had. He was certain Dr. Meridian would have paid money to take his place in the conversation, just to witness the mood swings alone.

“Edward, are you okay?” Bruce asked, concern coloring his voice. 

The other end of line went silent.

Bruce frowned. “Edward?”

“I...” came the eventual reply. “I have to go.”

The line died. 

Bruce looked up at Alfred, who raised an eyebrow from the driver’s seat.

“Let me guess, sir,” Alfred said. “Wrong number?”

“Wrong _something_ ,” Bruce said. “Let’s move, Alfred. I need to get back to the Ritz before someone decides I’ve been kidnapped.” 

The Bentley pulled out of the alleyway, turning back onto the main road as they drove in the direction of the crashed party.

“I hope I haven’t worried Chase too terribly,” Bruce said. “It’s bad enough that I always end up ditching my dates halfway through the evening. But making them think their missing escort is in danger? That’s a new low.”

“In your defense, Master Bruce, you were in quite genuine mortal peril,” Alfred said, then knocked a knuckle against the driver’s side window. “And something tells me that Dr. Meridian is managing to restrain her panic.”

“What do you—” Bruce followed Alfred’s gaze to the sidewalk, where Dr. Meridian appeared to be having a very relaxed conversation with the vendor of a nearby hot dog stand. Bruce rolled down his window. “ _Chase_?”

She looked up at the sound of her name. “Hello!” she called, giving the car a short wave. Alfred pulled the car around until they had rolled up next to the hot dog stand. 

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” she said, leaning down into Bruce’s window. “I assumed that you’d be longer. I can get you one too, if you like.”

“You can — no, thank you,” Bruce said, still confused.

“Are you sure?” Chase asked. “They’re very good. I come by Val’s all the time on my lunch break.”

“I— sure, fine,” Bruce said. The psychologist smiled and turned back towards the vendor, holding up two fingers until he gave her a nod. “Chase, are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” she echoed, surprised. “I’m perfectly fine, Bruce. The better question would be in regards to _your_ health, although physically you seem entirely intact.” She leaned down, peering carefully into Bruce’s eyes. “Have you experienced any headaches since exiting Nygma’s Box? Nausea, vomiting?”

“No nausea,” Bruce said. “But I’m definitely starting to develop a headache.”

Her lips twitched into a smile at that. Val the hot dog vendor called her over, and she walked back over to the stand to pay for her purchase. 

“An odd woman, isn’t she?” Alfred observed once she was out of earshot.

“Agreed,” Bruce said, watching her as she cheerfully accepted a paper bag. “I don’t know what happened. The last time I saw her at the party she seemed horrified.”

“I was referring to the fact that she’s buying dinner for a millionaire,” Alfred said. “But you’re right, that sounds odd too.” 

Chase returned to Bruce’s door. “You know, I would hate to ruin the upholstery in here,” she said, glancing pointedly around the Bentley’s interior. “Maybe it would be best if we ate these at Wayne Manor?”

Wordlessly, Bruce opened the car door and moved to the other side.

“Excellent,” she said. “I always hate to have a serious conversation on an empty stomach.”

. . . 

“Oh, just _smell_ that,” Dr. Meridian said, inhaling deeply as she opened the aluminum foil covering her hot dog. “Clearly meat of some kind. That’s how you know it’s good.”

Bruce took his fork and knife and cautiously cut off a piece of his own. “I have to say, Chase, you didn’t really strike me as the kind of woman who would go for street food.”

She watched with amusement as Bruce elegantly raised a chunk of hot dog to his mouth with a fork. “I’m not, usually. But I like supporting Val’s endeavors.”

Bruce swallowed. “An old friend of yours?” 

“Former patient,” she corrected, taking a bite of her own. “You know, Gotham’s a wonderful town, Bruce. I don’t think any other city in the world would have given him his license back, even after I gave him a clean bill of health.”

“Ah,” Bruce said. He set down his utensils. “Well. I’m... glad to hear about an Arkham success story. You don’t meet many of those.”

Chase smiled. The expression was ostensibly sympathetic, but any comforting effect was diminished by the methodical chewing accompanying it. “I know you’ve invested a considerable amount of money into the Asylum, Bruce,” she said after she’d swallowed. “Your concern for the reformation of our inmates is... quite touching.”

“Well, Harvey’s an inmate there,” Bruce said, then paused. “I mean... usually.”

She nodded, taking another bite. “Yes, it _was_ after your friend Harvey’s initial imprisonment in Arkham that you chose to make your donations public.” 

“How do you—”

“He really appreciates your support, you know,” she said, then grinned. “Half of the time, anyway.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t find that particularly funny, Doctor,” he said, rising to his feet. “If you have something to say—”

Her face fell. “I apologize, Bruce,” Chase said, lowering her gaze to the surface of the dining table. “Working at Arkham can... warp your sense of humor. I meant to say that I think it’s noble, your dedication to helping Mr. Dent.” She looked up. “Even when he’s dedicated to killing you.”

“When he’s— _what_ are you talking about?” Bruce asked, trying to look as confused as possible. Underneath the veneer, his blood turned to ice. 

“I mean, there’s a certain delightful irony to it, isn’t there?” she said, her smile returning. “Bruce Wayne is Harvey Dent’s only friend in the world... until he dresses up in head-to-toe kevlar and becomes his worst enemy.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, just stared at her incredulously. 

“What’s wrong, Bruce?” she asked, meeting his gaze with wide, innocent eyes. “Bat got your tongue?”

“...How?” he asked, eventually. “How did you know?”

“For sure? Not until right now,” she said. “But I’ve been pretty certain for a while. It wasn’t long after the first time you returned an inmate to the Asylum that I started putting together a psychological profile of Batman. The childhood trauma was a given, of course. But it takes a certain kind of rich boy to wage a personal war against a city’s nightlife while refusing any accountability to the proper authorities.”

She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I matched my profile against the most logical candidates and came up with you as my leading theory... although,” she said, giving a short, embarrassed laugh, “I had no idea how to approach you with it. Or if it would even be safe to do so. Batman cuts a pretty intimidating figure, after all.”

Bruce sat back down. “I’m not going to hurt you, Chase,” he said, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. “I would never do that. But I need you to understand, Batman’s secret identity...”

“It has to _stay_ secret,” she said, gazing back at him earnestly. “I understand, Bruce. You don’t have to worry about me. I’d be _happy_ to keep this confidential. I only have one—”

She lurched forward as the foundations of the house shook beneath them. Bruce caught her shoulder and steadied them both with a hand on the table. Eventually the violent vibrations subsided and the two warily separated. 

“Downstairs neighbors?” Chase guessed.

“For some reason, I don’t think that’s the bats,” Bruce said. 

The foundations shook again, but Chase barely seemed to notice, her eyes widening as she gripped her chair for support. “Bats?” she echoed. “You have _literal_ bats? God, the psychosocial implications of that alone... you have no idea what I would do to have my tape recorder right about now.”

“I think we have bigger problems than that right now,” Bruce said, taking Chase’s arm and leading her towards the door of the dining room. “But, for the record: you will never get me alone in a room with you and a tape recorder.”

“We’ll see about that,” Chase said, peering around the door frame. “Oh, you are _not_ going to like this.”

Bruce turned to see what she was referring to. To his extreme displeasure, he immediately caught sight of men wearing Two-Face’s dual toned gang colors breaking a display vase as they rounded a corner.

He slipped back into the dining room to grab one of the spears hanging over the Wayne family crest behind the head of the table. “Stay behind me,” Bruce ordered as he returned to the door.

“Happily,” Chase said, eyeing his makeshift weapon appreciatively. 

Two of the goons were only armed with spiked baseball bats; the third had a rifle, so he was up first. The lights of the manor were flickering with the shaking of the walls, and the shadows created by the epileptic effect made it difficult for them to see his approach. To say Bruce had become efficient at stealth over the years would be an understatement, and without the heavy armor of the batsuit weighing him down he moved completely soundlessly through the hall.

When he was close enough, he used the spear to propel himself towards the gunman, kicking the gangster square in the back and knocking him onto his face. Bruce landed on the man’s back and swung the blunt end of the spear into the head of his companion on the left, taking advantage of the motion to sweep out the legs of the man on the left as he did so.

He leaned down to sucker punch the fallen man into unconsciousness before he could get back up. In the corner of his eye he saw Dr. Meridian slamming the head of the still-standing gangster into the wall behind him, taking advantage of his disorientation. 

She grinned up at Bruce when he returned to his feet. “Well, wasn’t that invigorati—”

“BRUCE!”

The pair turned to see Harvey Dent turn the corner at the other end of the hallway. He was holding Dick, still wearing his Robin costume from earlier, in a tight headlock. He held one of his twin pistols to the teenage vigilante’s temple.

“We didn’t want to believe it,” Harvey said, walking Dick towards them. “But it’s true, isn’t it Bruce? This is him, that kid charity case of yours.” 

He pushed the gun harder against Dick’s head, the pity in his unmarred eye contradicted by the maliciousness of his ruined smile. “And you,” he said, turning his face back to Bruce. “You’re him. _Batman._ ”

Bruce’s gaze slipped over to Dr. Meridian.

“I didn’t tell him!” she protested, reacting to the unintentional accusation in his stare. “At most, I asked a couple of leading questions during our therapy sessions.”

Harvey stared incredulously, then laughed. “ _Ha_! We should have known a headcase like her wasn’t just looking for celebrity gossip. We’d say you should watch yourself with this one, Bruce — you know, if we weren’t going to kill you.”

Bruce lowered his spear, trying to appear less threatening without rendering himself defenseless. “You don’t have to kill me, Harvey,” he said. “We’re friends. You _know_ I’m your friend.”

“We do know,” Harvey said. More goons poured into the hallway behind him, weapons raised, but he held them back with a shake of his head. “Spare our best friend, or kill our worst enemy?” He laughed, but the sound was completely void of mirth. “We were going to be unhappy no matter which side the coin landed on. But at least this result gives us closure.”

Dick made eye contact with Bruce. _Now?_ he mouthed, tensing up. Two-Face must have sensed the motion, because he shoved Dick to the ground, shifting his gun to the top of his head.

“Don’t even think about it, Boy Wonder,” Harvey growled. “ _SPICE_!” 

At his call, the same redheaded woman who’d accompanied him to Edward’s party rounded the corner. To Bruce’s horror, she had Alfred in tow, a wicked looking SIG Sauer pressed against his head. 

“Don’t worry, Bruce,” Harvey said, drawing his second pistol with his free hand. “We could never kill Alfred. Don’t even need the coin for that one. But if you or Grayson makes any moves...” 

The woman grinned, her tongue lolling out of her mouth lasciviously. Alfred stared disdainfully at the display out of the corner of his eyes. 

“...Spice here doesn’t have nearly as much emotional attachment to the old man,” Harvey finished.

Bruce tried to calculate if he could use his spear to disarm the woman before she could get a shot off in Alfred’s skull. The math didn’t look good. “Harvey,” he said desperately. “Please. Don’t do something you can’t come back from.”

“We’re... _I’m_ sorry, Bruce,” Harvey said, and it was clear from his voice that he meant it. His eyes hardened, and he raised his second pistol to take aim at Bruce’s head. “But we passed that point a long time ago.”

“ _NO_!”

Everyone turned to look at the green-garbed man who had appeared at the mouth of the hallway. He was pointing his question mark cane in Two-Face’s direction — and by the look on Harvey’s face, Bruce guessed the instrument was more of a threat than its simplistic design made it appear.

“Don’t kill him,” Riddler warned. He kept the cane trained on Two-Face as he drew closer to his fellow rogue... then tossed it over his shoulder once he was close enough to drape himself over the man. He let his head flop onto Two-Face’s shoulder, staring directly at Bruce as he petted the arm aiming the gun in Bruce’s direction. 

“If you kill him,” he said into Harvey’s ear, quietly enough that the words would have been indecipherable in anything but the dead silence of the hallway, “he can’t _learn_ anything.”

Riddler blinked up at Two-Face, waiting for a reaction. Harvey kept his gaze on Bruce, who matched his stare. He watched, breath bated, as the smallest bit of doubt and hope entered Harvey’s mismatched eyes. 

“Flip the coin,” Two-Face said, not moving either of his arms from their careful aim at his enemies. 

Giggling with eager anticipation, Riddler reached into Harvey’s pocket and pulled out the scarred silver dollar. He kissed it dramatically before flipping the thing into the air, watching its arc with delighted awe. The coin soared over and past Harvey’s shoulder, and Riddler stepped back to catch it behind the man’s line of sight.

“Heads,” Riddler said with a grin, not bothering to look at the result. 

Harvey let out a breath Bruce hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He lowered the gun he’d been aiming at Bruce’s head — then used it to pistol-whip Dick, who crumpled to the floor, unconscious. 

“Get the boy in the car,” he said, gesturing to his very-confused looking men. “ _NOW_!” he roared when they hesitated. “And grab the doctor, too! I think we might be overdue for an appointment.”

Riddler skipped forward through the resulting flurry of movement, twirling his cane until the question mark head landed under Bruce’s chin.

“Hold onto this for me, will you Brucie?” the pink-haired man asked innocently, pulling a golden box out of the bag hanging from his spandex-covered hip. He offered it to Bruce expectantly, and beamed when Bruce cautiously took the gilded object into his hands.

“Thanks, babe!” he exclaimed, and to Bruce’s shock the man lunged forward to kiss his cheek. He grinned up at Bruce’s surprised expression. “Now, be sure to keep a _tight_ grip on that there treasure. This might sting a little.”

Riddler pressed a button on his cane, and Bruce’s mind went white as electricity coursed through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally only two lines of this chapter come from the actual movie, so there's not a lot to link this time. The general concept of Dr. Meridian knowing Bruce's identity comes from the scene where she learns it in the movie (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-Izcs5fUbY&ab_channel=FlashbackFM), though obviously here it isn't because he kisses the same as Batman. The way she figures it out here is more inspired by how Hugo Strange, my personal favorite Arkham psychiatrist, puzzles it out in the game Arkham City (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vFs-aYGvmU&ab_channel=TheArcaneWiz). Riddler stopping Two-Face from killing Bruce IS from the scene where the pair invade Wayne Manor (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79G0PG2i8wY&ab_channel=FlashbackFM), though otherwise there's not a lot of similarities.


	6. Riddle Me That

Bruce woke up to gentle hands softly shaking him into consciousness.

“Alfred?” he guessed, and the man smiled down at him when he opened his eyes.

“Speaking,” the butler replied, and as Bruce sat up Alfred quickly pulled him into an embrace. He let go before Bruce could reciprocate, levelling his charge with a worried stare. “I’m afraid we have little time for pleasantries, Master Bruce. Those degenerates... and Mr. Dent... are gone, but they left with Master Richard and Dr. Meridian.”

Bruce squeezed the older man’s shoulder reassuringly. “They’re still alive, Alfred,” he said. “Whatever game Riddler’s playing, I imagine it requires breathing bait.”

Alfred frowned. “The fact that you think this information would make me _less_ worried is almost as concerning as our current predicament,” he said. “Almost. The cave is destroyed, Master Bruce. Whatever ‘game’ your fashion victim villain has manufactured, we are utterly ill-equipped to play it.”

Bruce withheld a groan as he painfully rose to his feet, picking up the golden box that laid next to him as he went. “Not _completely_ ill-equipped,” he said, gesturing towards the object. “A detective’s never fully lost, so long as he has a clue.”

Alfred looked dubious. “Another riddle from your no-longer-secret admirer?” he asked. “Forgive me, but I think we might have different definitions of the world ‘clue.’”

Bruce walked in the direction of the silver closet, and Alfred reluctantly followed. “If you look at the numbers on my face,” Bruce recited, “you won’t find thirteen anyplace.” 

“A clock,” Alfred answered faithfully.

Turning the corner, Bruce saw that the door to the silver closer had been broken off its hinges; likewise, the false backing blocking the tunnel to the cave had been violently turned aside.

“Tear one off and scratch my head,” he said, stepping over the wreckage, “what once was red is black instead.” 

“A match.”

Bruce grimaced as they descended into the cave. He’d been hoping Alfred had been exaggerating when he said “destroyed,” but it was clear now that the word had been more of an understatement. Whatever explosion had occurred here — or _explosions_ , plural, based off the level of destruction apparent — it must have been what had shaken the foundations of the manor earlier. Bruce guessed it had _also_ been what was occupying Riddler while Harvey and his gang attacked the manor’s inhabitants. 

“The eight of us go forth, not back, to protect our King from a foe’s attack.”

“Chess pawns,” Alfred finished. “I still don’t see what these objects could possibly have in common.” 

“Neither do I,” Bruce said, setting down the gold box on the slightly less burnt side of one of the cave’s operating tables. “Hopefully this one will shed some light on the situation."

Bruce carefully opened the lid of the box. Alfred looked about ready to drag Bruce to the ground for cover, but the lifting of the lid didn’t reveal a bomb or release a toxin or anything of the kind. Inside was a moving diorama; a tennis court, with a picture of Bruce emblazoned on the ball being passed between players.

“We’re five little items of any everyday sort,” Bruce read from the green lettering on the inside of the lid. He frowned for a moment, hoping that wasn’t the full riddle, when he noticed a button on the clasp. He pressed it and the panels of the lid flipped over, revealing new words. “You’ll find us all in a tennis court.”

Alfred leaned down to examine the mechanism while Bruce stared, fixated, at the riddle’s wording. “You know, I was mostly joking before,” Alfred said, “but he really has come a long way from pasting magazine cut-outs. Even if this _was_ handmade, the production involved would have been incredibly time-intensive.”

“Vowels!” Bruce said suddenly.

Alfred looked up. “Pardon?”

“Five vowels, A, E, I, O, U,” Bruce said, pointing to each letter on the box. “There’s one of each _in_ the words ‘a tennis court.’”

Alfred considered this for a moment, then tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Not entirely unclever, sir. But what clue can be derived from the combination of a clock, a match, chess pawns and _vowels_?”

“Nothing that I can think of,” Bruce said as he tapped the top of the box in concentration. “Maybe... maybe it’s less about what the answers have in common, and more about the riddles themselves?”

“The riddles... oh!” Alfred exclaimed. “They all have numbers, Master Bruce! You won’t find _thirteen_ , tear _one_ off, the _eight_ of us, and _five_ little items.”

“A number in every question,” Bruce murmured, letting his fingers rap against the box’s surface. “Coordinates? No, too few. Letters of the alphabet?”

Alfred hummed thoughtfully. “Thirteen would be M...”

“One would be A, eight would be H, five would be E.” Bruce furrowed his brow, frowning. “Mahe?”

“...Ahem?” Alfred guessed, though he didn’t sound particularly convinced.

“No, that doesn’t make any... oh, God,” Bruce said, lifting a hand to his forehead.

“Are you alright, sir?” Alfred asked, moving forward to examine the younger man’s head, but Bruce held out a reassuring hand.

“Robin was right,” Bruce said. “When he was joking around in the car. The answer starts with M, ends with E. If you merge 1 and 8 as representing one number, 18, then Riddler’s our _mystery_ man.”

“18 is R,” Alfred frowned. “So M-R-E... Mr. E... mystery. Oh, lord. I _do_ hope there’s a better answer than that, sir,” he said with distaste. “If all we have is a mystery, we’re right back where we started.”

“No, it’s worse than that,” Bruce said, massaging his temple as he felt the beginnings of a headache. “It’s a pun. Do you know another word for mystery, Alfred? Starting with E?

“Starting with E...” Alfred rubbed his chin. “Enigma?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, closing the box. “ _Mr. E_ Nygma.”

“E. Nygma... oh, that’s terrible,” Alfred said, sounding almost impressed. “Breaking into a multi-million dollar industry wasn’t enough for your friend Edward, then? I suppose the wardrobe choices for ‘debonair playboy’ were too limiting for his eclectic tastes.”

“Costumed villainy _does_ allow for considerably more neon green,” Bruce said, moving over to the cave’s damaged display cases. “I knew Edward was up to something with his invention, but I assumed he was after a more personal victory against Bruce Wayne. It never occurred to me that he would get involved with someone like Harvey.”

“Why not?” Alfred mused as Bruce lifted the fallen cases out of the way. “They have so much in common. The instability. The bizarre fashion choices. The intense emotional fixation on Bruce Wayne. Maybe they attended the same high school.”

“Supervillain night school,” Bruce muttered.

Alfred frowned, puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said, pulling the last of the collapsed cases out of the way. Beneath them was an old metal chest, preserved from the flames by its location and material. “I need to get Robin out of there. If the Riddler is Edward, then he might be more unstable then I thought.”

“I shudder to imagine, sir,” Alfred said, watching skeptically as Bruce opened the chest. “But I hope you have a better plan for doing so than wearing _that_.”

The chest contained one of the older batsuits. Bruce had meant to put it on display with the other (intact) previous models at some point, but he’d never gotten around to it. It just wasn’t impressive enough that Bruce had felt the desire to rush. Most of the other suits had been replaced because of a major shift in Batman’s methods or tactics — one of the ruined display cases on the floor, his favorite, commemorated the introduction of Robin as a crime fighting partner. But this suit had been replaced for no reason other than major technological improvements coming out of Wayne Enterprises R&D. Which meant that wearing it into an obvious trap would offer only marginally more protection than if he’d gone with his original spandex.

“Let’s put it this way,” Bruce said, pulling the suit out of the chest. “It’s this or I ask you to iron my tux.”

Alfred sighed. “Very well, sir. I’ll start preparing the sutures. Shall I warm up the Bentley?” he asked, gesturing towards the flaming wreck at the center of the cave. “I think the Batmobile might need some time in the shop before it’s ready for an excursion.”

Bruce shook his head. “That won’t be necessary Alfred. Edward might be smart, but apparently no one ever taught him to look up.”

As he spoke, he reactivated the control gauntlet on the old batsuit. He pressed one of the hidden buttons and gestured upwards to the cave ceiling, where the Batplane’s hanger was stationed amongst the stalactites. The aircraft hummed to life, lowering from its upside-down position as its wings shifted unfolded from their storage position.

“Well, thank God for your penchant for the dramatic,” Alfred said. “One can only imagine what we would have done if you were obsessed with an animal that has more conventional sleeping habits.” 

“The computer in the Batplane should still be functional,” Bruce said, ignoring him. “Once I get suited up... I think I have some homework to do.”

. . . .

“Subtle,” Bruce said.

“I’m sure he’d be disappointed to hear you say so,” Alfred’s voice came over the radio.

Outside the plane’s viewing port, the bat signal was clearly visible against the smog of Gotham’s night sky. It wouldn’t be an unusual sight for this city, if not for the lasers projecting a giant green question mark over Batman’s symbol, turning it into the dot at the end of the punctuation. He flew the plane through it, which was slightly petty but probably improved morale at the GCPD below.

“Approaching the Nygmatech factory on Claw Island,” Bruce said. “Entering their airspace in five.”

Bruce could practically hear Alfred rolling his eyes from Wayne Manor. “The supervillains in this town really don’t appreciate what you do for their real estate industry. The turnover is truly incredible. In any other city, a place with a name as sinister as ‘Claw Island’ would never have been available.”

“In any other city, there wouldn’t _be_ a place named Claw Island,” Bruce said. “Incoming call request from police channels. How much do you want to bet it’s the genuine article?”

Alfred scoffed. “Based on your tone? Not much. Would you like me to patch it in, sir?”

“Please.”

The radio crackled with the introduction of a new signal. “This is your captain speaking,” a familiar voice said between giggles. “Please return to your seats! We _will_ be experiencing turbulence.”

“Edward,” Bruce said, glancing at the incoming projectiles that had popped up on his radar. “I thought you needed me alive to ‘learn’ something.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t have _fun_ ,” Riddler said earnestly. “Besides, you’ll move out of the way.” His voice lowered to the same deep baritone he used on Chase at his party. “Harv says you always do.”

Bruce cut the transmission. “Alfred, I’m passing the pilot controls over to you.” 

The sounds of the butler cracking his knuckles carried over the communicator. “Very well, Master Bruce. The old dodge and roll, I assume.”

Bruce unbuckled himself from his seat, pressing the button to open the emergency hatch leading out through the underside of the plane. “Try not to break anything,” he said as he jumped out into the night sky.

“The same to you,” Alfred replied. “Good luck, sir.”

Above Bruce, the Batplane twisted in midair, flying directly upwards. Bruce fell downwards, fast, a small black shape moving imperceptibly fast in the darkness of the Gotham night. When he began to approach the surface of the harbor below, he spread his cape and glided forward, skimming the surface of the water until he dived into the inky depths. 

He swam through the harbor waters, moving as quickly as possible towards the shining lights of Claw Island. He broke through the waves as he approached the rocky shore, glancing up at the sky. He could see the Batplane in the far distance, flipping and turning further and further away from Bruce’s destination as it dodged the Riddler’s continued missile onslaught. 

Carefully, Bruce pulled himself out of the water onto the rocks. He crept up the shore, hopping the chain link fence surrounding the factory with little effort. A single guard — ostensibly Nygmatech, not Two-Face’s gang, though Bruce wasn’t especially feeling like luck was on his side tonight — was stationed between Bruce and a single out-of-the-way maintenance door neatly hidden behind the factory’s ventilation system. 

Sneaking up on the guard and choking him into unconsciousness was relatively simple — the most difficult part was making sure he didn’t have time to scream before Bruce covered his mouth. Once the man had been carefully lowered to the ground, Bruce grabbed his chain of keys and crept towards the door. He unlocked it, opened it cautiously, and stepped inside.

Immediately the darkened hallway was illuminated by green fluorescent overhead lights, and the walls lit up with taunting projections of a chained Robin and Dr. Meridian. 

“Well, so much for stealth,” Bruce muttered, peering around at his surroundings.

The recordings plastering the walls were of two different scenes; Dick and Harvey in one, Chase and Edward in the other. The audio of both were playing at the same time, but if Bruce listened carefully he could separate the cacophony of voices. He started down the hallway as he attempted to focus on the situation faced by his partner in crime fighting. Dick appeared to be listening with annoyance to a rant from Harvey about the lack of justice in the world.

“What do you want, Two-Face?” he asked finally. “Sympathy? If you wanted to capture a shoulder to cry on, you should have picked up Bruce.”

Harvey slammed his fist down onto a bifurcated table. “Bruce?” he repeated, furious. “ _Bruce_ is the reason for all of this! He encouraged me to stick my neck out while he stayed safe behind his secret identity. And _look_ what happened!” he shouted, dragging his nails down the burnt side of his face. “I have _nothing_ left. He has EVERYTHING!”

Dick looked unphased by his captor’s screaming breakdown, which Bruce took as a sign that the young vigilante was getting kidnapped too often.

“If he actually had everything, I doubt he would be dressing up as a bat to get shot at every night,” Dick observed. “Great coping mechanism _you’ve_ chosen, by the way. I’m sure the lack of anything worthwhile in your life has nothing to do with your decision to become a supervillain.”

Harvey growled and flipped over the table. Noting that the trajectory of their conversation wasn’t going anywhere good, Bruce sped up his race down the hall. As he did, he caught notice of the parallel conversation between Chase and Edward. 

“Have you ever considered therapy, _Mr. Nygma_?” Chase asked. Her voice and expression were calm, but even through the pixelated projection her eyes betrayed fury at her current situation.

Riddler clapped mockingly. “You figured it out!” he exclaimed. “And I didn’t even send you any of my riddles.”

“Oh, the ones Bruce showed me gave me a clear enough picture,” Chase said. She smirked at the twisted expression her words sent across Edward’s features. “The obsessive tendencies. The emotional investment in Bruce Wayne. The desperation for attention...” she looked him over judgmentally. “A trait that seems to be reflected in your alter-ego’s fashion choices.”

Riddler pouted dramatically. “You don’t like the jacket?” he asked. As he spoke, the LED question marks on his suit coat flashed in and out of fluorescent green existence. “It keeps me safe when I’m... _jogging_ at _night_!”

Chase glared as he burst into hysterical laughter. “Hmm. Have you ever considered that overexposure to your device might be cutting neural pathways faster than your consciousness can incorporate them?” she suggested. 

It sounded like a reasonable theory to Bruce — and based on the brief flicker of uncertainty in his expression as she posed it, Riddler thought the same. But the bitterness undercutting the doctor’s voice indicated to Bruce that her words were intended more as intimidation than genuine medical advice.

“You’re frying your mind, _Edward_ ,” she said. “Bruce knew your project would end in disaster long before Nygmatech ever got off the ground.”

Riddler slid down the metal platform onto even ground with Chase. He cocked his head, staring at her studiously. “You’ve got a thing for him, don’t you?” he asked, whispering conspiratorially. “I can tell. I can tell _everything_.”

“You’re sick,” Chase spat.

He grinned. “That your professional diagnosis?”

“I’ll have a better one for the court when you’re in a cell tomorrow,” she said. “Batman _will_ come for me.”

“Batman?” Riddler gasped. “ _Batman_ you say?”

He strolled across the room to lean in close to Dr. Meridian, who looked to be genuinely considering biting his head off. When he was only inches away from her face (though notably outside of biting distance), his false shock dropped into a manic scowl. 

“I’m _COUNTING_ ON IT!” he roared.

The video feeds died out. Figured that Riddler would give himself the last word. 

Bruce arrived at the end of the twisting hallways, a cylindrical room that seemed to go up forever — though, as Bruce stared high in the distance above him, he could begin to see what looked like a platform of spinning blades as it dropped with concerning speed to the floor where he stood. 

He gave a half-hearted look over his shoulder at the door behind him, which had silently swung shut. Reaching for the question mark shaped door knob, he gave it a resigned tug before determining that the ridiculous thing was just for show. As the blades swung lower and lower, the floor beneath Bruce began to rescind. He glanced at the growing crack between the shifting panels to confirm that, yes, there was a pit of spikes down below. 

Bruce sighed, pulling out his grapple. He launched a line at the service ladder on the side of the pit, pulling himself off the flooring before it disappeared. From his new position, much closer to the descending barrage, he grabbed a batarang from his belt and carefully through it into the rotating gears of the blade directly over him. 

The whirling stopped, though by the crunching noises Bruce could hear emanating from the mechanism, it would be a temporary solution at best. Without a moment’s hesitation he threw himself upwards, climbing through the gaps of the stalled blades. Seconds after he’d passed through to the top of the platform, the gears crushed through the batarang, spitting out the pieces as they resumed their deadly motion.

“Not even particularly creative,” Bruce said to himself, looking around. “Either he’s serious about not trying to kill me, or he's _really_ new at this.”

Now on the other side, Bruce could see that the ceiling above him was decorated with shining green question marks, which seemed like a promising indication that he was going in the right direction. He launched another grapple towards the piping connecting them, and as he hurtled towards the top of the chamber he noticed what looked like a circular maintenance hatch. Swinging over to it, he rotated the frustratingly question mark emblazoned wheel — which seemed to actually be functional this time — and pulled himself through into the next room. 

If the flood of stage lights spiraling around the new chamber wasn’t enough to demonstrate that he was in the right place, the twisting ramp leading up to the dramatically towering platform at the room’s center sealed the deal. The structure was backlit by giant coils of neon blue and green light, which cast a deathly if eccentric pallor over the throne at the platform’s top.

The sides of the throne were made of two ostentatiously gold replicas of Rodin’s famous _Thinker_ , while its back was a cushy green leather ornamented with hanging tassels. Leaning over it from behind was Harvey, who glared down at Bruce with grim determination. Sitting in the throne itself, theatrically positioned with his forearms over the heads of the statues, was Edward. 

He was wearing what must have been his third costume of the evening, a white spandex jumpsuit covered in green question marks and what appeared to be shining silver rhinestones. His hair had been combed upwards into a manic, crested style that almost gave it the appearance of hot pink fire.

“Riddle me this, riddle me that,” he purred, his voice projected unnaturally loud throughout the chamber. He leaned forward in his chair, grinning down at Bruce from above. “Who’s afraid of the big, black _BAT_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting towards the end of the movie proper! Scenes used are:
> 
> 1\. The solution to Edward's riddle, as well as the delightful reveal that Bruce stores his plane upside-down from the cavern roof like a bat (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWrnjDXx5x4&t=44s&ab_channel=JustinRichards). 
> 
> 2\. The assault on Claw Island (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EI9GMP_A7RI&ab_channel=thesouz18), except Robin is already captured by the villains because the timeline of his capture in the movie never made any sense to me. 
> 
> 3\. The video recordings of captured Dick and Chase are inspired by the "jogging at night" scene from the movie (which unfortunately I can't find a Youtube clip of), as well as the scenes in the novelization where Chase has a longer conversation with Edward and Dick talks Harvey into committing suicide. Which I still can't believe is a thing that was written in the novel. If you would like to read the novelization, it is available for free online (https://archive.org/details/isbn_9780446602174/mode/2up), although I personally find it less enjoyable than the movie because of creative decisions like "Robin convinces Two-Face to commit suicide and Batman approves," which are just. Categorically insane. It's an interesting look at what was presumably an earlier version of the script, though. 
> 
> 3\. Riddler's outfit and single line at the end of this chapter is from the first ten seconds of his final confrontation with Batman (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Xd63f93Lw8&t=11s&ab_channel=leovibe). Describing his look here really made me realize how rarely I do physical descriptions of people in my writing, but I feel like this iconic look deserved it.


	7. Sadistic Choice

“No more tricks, Edward.” 

Riddler grinned down at the costumed man below him. “Very well then,” he said, whirling his cane with unnecessary showmanship. “Let’s get _real!_ ”

“Let Robin and the doctor go,” Bruce said, affecting an air of calmness he wasn’t really feeling at the moment. “This is between you and me, not them.”

“You’re forgetting someone, Bats,” Two-Face said, stepping up to the Riddler’s side. “This is between the four us.”

Riddler laughed, leaning against Two-Face’s shoulder. “That’s right, Brucie! _Three_ against _one._ ”

Bruce stared pointedly at the two figures hidden in the shadows beneath the throne platform.

“Alright, maybe it’s more like five against one,” Riddler admitted.

“Come on out, girls,” Two-Face said. “I’m sure Bats won’t mind. He’s always gotten along well with the ladies.”

The two women who walked out from underneath the spiraling metal ramp were familiar to Bruce. The first was Spice, the tall redhead who’d held a gun to his butler earlier that night. She stuck out her tongue as she was forced to jump down from her hanging perch on one of the criss-crossing metal bars. The second, much to Bruce’s dismay, was the petite blonde who had “helped” Bruce at Edward’s party. She gave him a sugar-sweet smile and demure wave that almost-but-not-quite managed to disguise her vicious amusement at his situation. 

He glared at her. She winked. 

“So,” Bruce said, looking back up at Riddler. “You’ve advanced from manipulating brainwaves to reading men’s minds.”

Edward cackled. “You betcha!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I’d argue the former is more impressive than the latter. But it’s in tangent that they really _shine_ . Soon my little _box_ will be on countless TVs around the world. Feeding me credit card numbers, bank codes, _sexual_ fantasies and little white lies!”

Riddler twirled around as he stepped away from Harvey. “Into my head they’ll go,” he said, leaning over the edge of the platform to look down on Bruce. “Victory is inevitable!”

Bruce watched as the green-garbed man drew his cane to his chest, petting the skull that rested in the question mark at its tip. “For if knowledge is power,” he said, his voice growing in volume as he raised the cane to speak directly into its head, “ _then a GOD AM I!_ ”

The sound echoed across the domed room, sounding almost inhuman as it twisted with each repetition. Edward giggled once the noise had faded. “Was that over the top?” he asked earnestly. “I can never tell.” 

_Yes_ , Bruce wanted to say. Instead he remained silent, taking in his opponents and the room. Spice was carrying her usual Tommy gun; her blonde companion seemed unarmed, but Bruce was willing to bet she had a weapon or two up her sleeves (or lack thereof). Harvey’s double flintlock pistols were at his side, but though Bruce had witnessed firsthand what damage they could do, he had a terrible feeling that the real danger was the cane in Riddler’s hands.

Edward looked disappointed by Bruce’s lack of response. “By the way, I’ve seen _your_ mind, FREAK,” he said, gesturing sarcastically and making a face. His exaggerated grimace chipped away as he stared down at his opponent, a glimmer of genuine curiosity crossing his features.

“Yours is the greatest riddle of all,” he said, his head tilting to the side. “Can Bruce Wayne and Batman ever truly coexist?”

“We’ll find out today,” Harvey said grimly, stepping forward and snapping Riddler out of his reverie. 

“Quite right,” Riddler said, recovering himself and adopting a voice better suited to a gameshow than a hostage situation. “But first, let’s meet our contestants!”

He swirled his cane in a circle, stopping as it pointed in the direction of the woman in white. “Sugar! Let’s show him what’s behind curtain number one.”

The blonde woman yawned daintily before gently tugging on a nearby cord. The motion pulled away draping curtains high in the air, revealing a cage hanging amongst the other neon green objects cluttering the ceiling.

“...Dr. Chase Meridian?” Riddler said, covering his mouth as he mock gasped. If looks could kill, Riddler would have dropped dead on the spot from the glare of the bound and gagged Chase.

“She enjoys hiking, getting her nails done, and _foolishly_ hopes to be the love of Bruce’s life!” Edward declared, resolutely ignoring the dagger-like stare of the woman above. Harvey chuckled behind him, evidently amused by the notion.

“And behind curtain number two...” Edward said, prompting Spice to violently yank on her own cord. The retracted curtains revealed a second cage, hanging on the other side of the room from Sugar’s.

“ _Fatman’s_ one and only partner,” Riddler said with unnecessary pettiness. “This acrobat-turned-orphan likes short pants, Saturday morning cartoons, and dreams of one day being...” his voice dropped into a stage whisper, “...bare naked with a girl!”

Dick rolled his eyes, evidently finding it difficult for a man in sequined spandex to wound his masculinity. He shouted something through his gag, but the muffling made it incomprehensible. Bruce guessed that it was probably for the best that his captor couldn’t hear.

“And below these contestants, _my_ personal favorite,” Riddler continued, tapping a button on the side of his cane. Two holes opened in the ground, one beneath each cage. “A _watery grave!_ Just one little touch,” he said, stroking the cane’s head, “and five seconds later these two day-players are GULL FEED on the rocks below.”

“Not enough time to save ‘em both,” Harvey said, flipping his coin and catching it mid-air. “Your choice, Bats. Bruce Wayne’s date? Or the Dark Knight’s junior partner?”

The set-up was simple enough. Harvey loved a sadistic choice, especially when he could force someone or something else to make it for him. Bruce was sure Harvey had a pre-set consequence ready for whichever side of the coin Bruce fell on. He had little doubt that choosing to save Robin — and thus prioritizing his identity as Batman — would result in his immediate death sentence. His fate in choosing Bruce Wayne was less certain. Would Two-Face spare him, if he chose to be Harvey’s friend over Harvey’s enemy?

It didn’t matter, ultimately. Bruce couldn’t make either choice, even if he was confident that Harvey would play fair and only drop the hostage that Bruce didn’t choose. There was a chance that Robin’s skills could save him if Bruce asked to save Chase instead, given the younger vigilante’s accomplishments as both an acrobat and escape artist. But though Bruce would have wanted Dick to let him fall if their positions were reversed, it wasn’t a decision Bruce was willing to make for his ward. 

In Harvey’s fractured mind, the choice may actually have been black and white. But Dick Grayson was as much Bruce Wayne’s family as he was Batman’s partner. And though Chase Meridian had been Bruce Wayne’s date, she was clearly far more fascinated by Batman than she’d ever been with the socialite.

Harvey was right — Bruce wouldn’t have time to save one hostage without the villains dropping the other. He needed a third option, but reasoning with Harvey only ever had a 50% chance of success. With lives on the line, that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

Thankfully, Harvey wasn’t the one with the remote.

“I’ll give you my answer,” Bruce said. “But first, Edward has to answer a riddle for me.”

Harvey laughed, incredulous. “Oh, Bats,” he said, clucking his tongue. “I think you’ll find that he doesn’t. Riddler?”

“You have a riddle for me?” Edward asked, ignoring the annoyed look shot in his direction by his partner in crime. “Really.”

“I do,” Bruce said, raising his chin.

Edward hummed a breathless-sounding chuckle. “Tell me,” he said, eyes gleaming as he spun his cane back under his arm. He dashed back to his throne, dropping down into the seat and quickly adjusting his posture into the most dramatic pose possible.

“I see without seeing,” Bruce replied obediently. “To me, darkness is as clear as daylight. What am I?”

The Riddler did not have to pause to think about it. “Puh- _lease,”_ Edward said, rolling his eyes. “You’re as blind as a bat!”

“Exactly,” Bruce said. He took a deep breath. Desperate times.

The two costumed criminals blinked in surprise as Bruce pulled back his cowl, revealing his features in their entirety. Harvey scowled and looked away; Edward stared down at the face of his former idol, his transfixed expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry, Edward,” Bruce tried. “I should have known that you’d take what I said to you in R&D as a rejection. It wasn’t meant to be.”

“You said my research raised too many questions,” Edward replied flatly. “You said _no.”_

“I said I wanted to see your schematics,” Bruce said. “I wanted to get together and talk about it. I didn’t understand why you needed a decision right then. Why did you?”

“You told me to talk to your secretary,” Edward said, his dramatic pose folding in slightly as he leaned forward. “Anyone could be told to call Bruce Wayne’s secretary. Stickley looked at me like I... like he would have...” Edward trailed off, staring at Bruce and frowning intently. “You wanted to get together?”

“I’m sorry that we didn’t,” Bruce said, looking up at his enemy with the most earnest expression he could muster. “Although I was impressed by how quickly you brought your invention to the market without me.”

“This is inane,” Harvey snapped. He still wasn’t looking at Bruce, instead keeping his gaze fixed on his stunned ally. “Riddler, if he refuses to play along, then the game is _over._ Drop the hostages. He doesn’t get a prize.”

“There is no way to play along,” Bruce insisted, stepping forward. “I don’t stop being Bruce Wayne when I put on Batman’s mask. If you’ve seen inside my mind, Edward, then you know that better than anyone.” 

Harvey growled, stepping forward. “Bruce Wayne and Batman _are_ seperate,” he hissed. “And if you won’t choose between them, I will.”

He reached for the Riddler’s cane, but Edward jumped up from the throne, dodging his hand. “We’re still talking,” Edward said, petulant.

“You’re not talking,” Harvey said, making another grab for the cane. Edward dodged again. “You’re letting him monologue about how he wouldn’t have rejected you if he knew it would have been more useful not to.”

“I didn’t reject you, Ed,” Bruce said, letting his face remain impassive in reaction to Harvey’s accusation. “I just wanted more time to talk about it. Harvey had a hostage at the bank, I had to leave quickly. If it wasn’t for him, we might have been able to reach an agreement.”

Now Harvey turned to face his old friend. “You’re blaming this on _me?”_ he realized, shocked and seething. “You lying little— you would NEVER have worked with him!” 

“You said you wanted to be partners, Ed,” Bruce said, ignoring Harvey entirely. “It’s not too late for that. We could still do great things together. Bruce Wayne and Edward Nygma. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Harvey laughed, near hysterical. “You think _he’s_ going to get you out of this?” he asked, bending over the platform to glare at Bruce directly. “He hates you more than I do! This whole thing was his—”

A cane to the back sent Harvey hurtling down to the floor below. He managed to grab onto one of the support beams as he fell, dangling precariously off the side of the platform.

“You mean it?” Edward said, standing at the edge where Harvey had been standing moments before. He looked down at Bruce with wild eyes, holding his cane in both hands.

“Of course,” Bruce lied. 

Edward hugged his arms around himself, giggling. His mirth raised in volume to full laughter, until finally he threw his head back in a manic cackle that echoed throughout the room. The unhinged sound was brought to an early and undignified end when Harvey grabbed his leg and yanked him off his perch.

Bruce lunged forward as Edward yelped in shock, tumbling off the platform. Bruce caught the man before he hit the ground, grabbing Edward from around the back and knees and flipping him right side up in his arms.

“Well hello there,” Edward said after catching his breath. He crossed his legs over Bruce’s arm, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder to steady himself. “You come here often?”

Still hanging from the platform, Harvey braced himself before letting himself drop the rest of the distance. Sugar and Spice dashed over to steady his landing, catching his arms as he hit the ground. 

“Thank you, ladies,” Harvey said, glancing gratefully between them before turning to glare at Bruce and Edward. “Now, will you two be dears and help me rip these traitors limb from limb?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Sugar said agreeably. She pulled a pair of twin stiletto daggers out of her lace garters, twirling them elegantly. On the other side of Harvey, Spice raised her Tommy gun, ready to fire. 

Bruce let go of Edward’s legs, getting a stronger grip under his shoulders as he launched a grapple at the ceiling. Bullets tore through the wall behind him as Spice shot up the area he’d been standing moments before. She lifted the firearm, not bothering to take her finger off the trigger as she followed Bruce’s trajectory through the air.

“Third compartment on the left of the clasp,” Bruce said, rescinding the grapple and then firing it again, yanking them out of free fall and sending them sailing towards a completely different direction.

Edward looked slightly motion sick, but after a second’s pause he processed what Bruce had meant. He reached a hand towards Bruce’s waist, opening the indicated compartment and pulling out three small, dark grey spheres.

“As close to their feet as possible,” Bruce advised. 

Edward grinned. “Batter up!” he cackled, winding back with the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Bruce’s shoulders to launch the pellets in the trio’s direction. He aimed well, and the cloud of dark smoke that filled the air on their impact with the floor quickly enveloped the criminals. 

Spice’s rate of fire came to a pause as the sound of coughing filled the room. Bruce dropped back to the ground, more gingerly than normal for the sake of his passenger. 

Normally, this would be the part of a fight where Bruce turned on the heat-sensitive mode of his cowl’s vision features. Unfortunately, the suit that Edward’s destruction of the Batcave had forced him to wear had no such capabilities. _Fortunately,_ Bruce had spent a significant portion of his 20’s training with a blindfold on.

He let go of Edward, diving into the part of the darkness where he could hear Spice’s steel-toed boots stumble around for better footing. He crashed into her solid form, knocking the Tommy gun out of her hands. He could hear it clatter to the ground a few feet away. 

Spice let out a furious growl, swinging in the direction of her attacker. A metal-lined elbow pad crashed into Bruce’s shoulder, knocking him back a pace. He responded with a roundhouse kick aimed as close to the source of the growl as possible. A satisfying _crack_ told him he hit his target, as she groaned the unmistakable groan of a person who had several less teeth than they’d had a moment before. 

A piercing pain to his back dampered his victory considerably, and a kick to his torso sent him stumbling out of the dark smoke.

Sugar followed him, emerging from the cloud with a serenity that did not match the blood dripping from one of her pearl-inlaid daggers. Bruce took a deep breath. Her knife had not been well-aimed, but the wound still stung. And his current suit didn’t have the armor to block a more serious blow. 

“The Bat is mine,” Harvey called, emerging from the smoke with a look of absolute fury twisting his features. 

“Not a problem, gorgeous,” Sugar said, hurling the bloody dagger with deadly precision in the direction of Edward’s face.

To Bruce’s relief, he managed to knock the blade aside with a quick twirl of his cane. “Ha!” Edward exclaimed, grinning triumphantly. “You’ll have to do better than that, you dulcet dul—”

His insult was cut off by a platform heel to the face. Bruce would have dashed over to help, but he caught a flash of silver metal out of the corner of his eye. He flipped backwards out of the way of Harvey’s quick shot; evidently Dent had managed to recover one of his twin flintlocks after his fall. 

“I guess you really are in there somewhere, Bruce,” Harvey said, aiming and re-firing as Bruce twisted away from his next shot. “This is just like the Julie Madison thing in college.” 

“I can think of several significant differences between this and the Julie Madison thing,” Bruce said, taking the opportunity to toss a batarang in the direction of his hand.

Harvey hissed as the gun was knocked out of his grasp. “Do you?” he asked, clenching his hands into fists. “Because I’m feeling pretty goddamn similar.”

“I’m struggling to see what’s analogous to Homecoming in this situation,” Bruce said, moving in close and blocking a punch to the chin. Harvey sent his other fist sailing into Bruce’s stomach, forcing him to bite back a groan. “...And the hostages are definitely new.” 

“You were always stealing my dates, Bruce,” Harvey said, ducking a kick to the head. “Back then, I thought it was funny. Now?”

He caught Bruce’s leg mid-air, then used his larger mass to throw Bruce backwards into one of the platform support beams. 

“I’m having a hard time finding the humor in the situation,” he finished, raising a foot to stamp down on Bruce’s kneecap. 

Bruce narrowly rolled out of the way. He swung a leg across the floor, sweeping Harvey’s feet out from under him. “There isn’t any,” Bruce said, growling as he launched himself on top of his fallen foe. 

Harvey grinned up at his attacker, the force of the smile almost managing to stretch the ruined half of his face. “We’ll see if Eddie finds some,” Harvey said, hands grasping for Bruce’s throat, “when I show him your head on a goddamn stick!”

Leaning backwards, Bruce grabbed Harvey’s wrists, one in each hand. The capabilities of his old suit might be limited, but there was one piece of armor Alfred had demanded be as developed as possible from the very beginning.

“Good luck with that,” Bruce said, and slammed his head into Harvey’s. 

Harvey collapsed onto Bruce’s chest, the force of the blow knocking him unconscious. Bruce took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Fuck,” he gasped, pushing Harvey off his body as gently as possible. 

He pulled himself to his feet, staggering over to where Edward was electrocuting his former henchwoman. 

“She’s already down, Edward,” Bruce said, reaching over his shoulder to get a sense of the depth of the wound on his back. 

Edward glanced down at the unconscious woman he was currently prodding with his cane. “Huh,” he said. “So she is.”

Concerned at his lackluster response, Bruce crouched down to take Sugar’s pulse. “Stable,” he observed with some amount of relief. 

“Of course,” Edward said, gesturing dismissively. “So, what do you think? Nygma-Wayne Enterprises? Or Nygma-Waynetech. Or Nygma-Wayne Tech Enterprises?”

“Edward.”

“I know, I know,” he said, stepping over Sugar as he walked over to Bruce. He twirled his cane absentmindedly. “But Nygma comes first alphabetically, so I’m afraid that’s not really up for debate.”

_“Edward.”_

“What?” Edward said, looking up at him expectantly. 

Bruce looked pointedly at the cages hanging from the ceiling. 

“Oh, the hostages,” Edward said, rolling his eyes. “Right.” 

He pressed a button on the head of his cane, and the floor extended back over the spike traps directly below each cage. “Fetch,” he said, moving his finger and releasing the floor of both of the hanging cells.

Bruce shot a grapple into the ceiling, swinging through the air to catch Chase as she fell. Dick flipped in the air, landing on his feet. He stepped gingerly off of the deactivated trap, glancing down uneasily at what might have been his grave. 

“Anyway,” Edward continued when Bruce touched back down to the ground. “You _might_ be able to persuade me to sell off Nygmatech and take Stickley’s job as head of the Electronics Division, as long as I also got a seat on the board.” He grinned, leaning in closer to Bruce. “But it would take a _lot_ of persuadi—” 

He doubled forward, collapsing into Bruce’s arms.

“What?” Dick asked, glancing up at Bruce’s disapproving expression with surprise. He picked a few strands of pink hair off of the fist of his glove. “You were going to do that eventually.”

“He was probably intending to do it more delicately,” Chase observed, tilting her head to watch as Bruce lowered the unconscious Edward to the ground. “I doubt he would have been able to continue his little deception all the way to Arkham. Then again, I didn’t think it was going to work back there, either. Very impressive, Dark Knight.”

“People usually call me ‘Bruce,’ when the mask is off,” he said, gesturing to his removed cowl. “Which brings us to another problem.” 

Dick sighed. “Everyone in this room knows our secret identities,” he said, glancing around him. “I guess that’s the end of our crime fighting careers. Unless—”

“We’re not killing anyone,” Bruce said. 

“Unless we _relocate,”_ Dick finished, rolling his eyes. “I hear Shanghai’s nice this time of year.”

“Good,” Bruce said. “Take Alfred and go. The two of you already have fake passports. Get on the next plane out of the country before the news breaks. There’s no reason for the two of you to face the fallout.”

“So why should you?” Dick protested. “Come with us.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “I’m not leaving Gotham.”

“And you think Alfred would leave _you?”_ Dick demanded, gesturing hysterically. “You think _I_ would leave you? This is insane. You’re coming with us, or we don’t go at all.” 

“I’m not letting my enemies take this out on you!” Bruce shouted.

“They’re not just _your_ enemies!” Dick shot back.

“Boys, boys,” Chase said, crossing her arms. “We get it, you both have martyr complexes. But there are solutions to this problem that don’t involve you becoming Biānfúxiá and Luóbīn.” 

“We’re not killing anyone,” Dick said before Bruce could. 

Chase raised her hands in mock surrender. “I wasn’t going to suggest murder,” she said. “Psychiatrists take the Hippocratic Oath too, you know.”

Dick huffed. “Then what’s your suggestion, oh wise physician?”

“Simple,” she said, walking over to her fallen patient. She turned Harvey over, studying his ruined face with practiced concentration. “Patient 0322 is already considered delusional, and has a documented pathological obsession with Batman. Bruce Wayne was his main remaining connection to his Harvey Dent identity. Projecting Batman and Bruce Wayne into the same person, in order to sever any remaining guilt and hesitancy over his criminal desires, would be an unfortunate but entirely conceivable development of his neurosis.” 

Dick stared at her, looking disturbed by her input. Bruce tilted his head curiously. “And the others?”

Chase stood up. “Only the three in this room saw definitively that Bruce Wayne is Batman,” she said. “The others in Two-Face’s employ may have heard as much, but all they actually experienced was the vigilante Robin showing up to prevent the kidnapping of the Waynes, while their employer’s eccentric new friend blew up a millionaire’s basement.” 

She walked over to prod Edward’s unconscious form with the toe of her Louboutins. “Edward Nygma, meanwhile, has spent the last several months sending you detailed riddle letters threatening your life,” she said. “Now that I’ve met him, I think I can confirm my presumptive diagnosis of your secret admirer. I’m sure any of his former coworkers at Wayne Enterprises could confirm his obsession with his employer.”

Dick snorted. “I’m sure five minutes in his apartment could confirm his obsession with his employer.”

“Quite,” Chase replied.

“That still leaves the molls,” Bruce said. “Doesn’t it, Spice?”

He turned to glare back at the woman who was attempting to crawl over to her Tommy gun. She paused, growling in annoyance. 

“Yes, they pose quite the problem,” Chase said, walking over to the fallen redhead. She offered her a hand up, which Spice ignored.

“If you cowards won’t kill me, then you’re even dumber than Sequins over there,” Spice said, gesturing to Edward as she rose shakily to her feet. “Me and Sugar were right behind Harv when Glitterbrain showed him everything on that stupid chair of his.”

Chase glanced up at the chair in question, then at Robin. Dick scooped up Edward’s cane, then turned to leap up the rungs of the platform with the grace of a born acrobat.

“Your loyalty to your...” Chase trailed off as she stared at the unconscious Harvey, evidently trying to think of a word to describe Spice’s relationship to him. “Friend,” she decided after a moment, “is admirable. But surely at this point you and Sugar have more to gain from helping us than opposing us.”

Spice looked over to the fallen blonde, a flicker of concern crossing her expression. “I doubt it.”

Chase put a hand on the small of Spice’s back, pushing her ever so lightly in Sugar’s direction. “You two ladies are accomplice to nearly all of Harvey’s crimes,” she said, watching as Spice knelt down next to the other woman. “Not to mention those you committed on your own. You’re both looking at life in prison. And not necessarily the same one.”

Concern overtook Spice’s features as she pulled Sugar’s head onto her lap. “So?” she protested, though the hesitation in her voice was obvious. “Taking Batman down with us is a hell of a consolation prize.”

“But you don’t have to go down at all,” Chase said, her voice calm and soothing. “I can convince the courts that Two-Face subjected you two paramours to his insanity, broke your connection to reality, and forced you to join in his depraved crimes. The two of you will go to Arkham, together, and in a year or so I can give you a clean bill of health.”

 _“What?”_ Bruce and Spice asked at the same time.

“I hate to abuse my position like this,” Chase said with a forlorn sigh. “But if there’s truly no other option...”

“You could do that?” Spice asked, looking down at the blonde in her arms. “Convince ‘em we weren’t responsible for our actions, or... whatever?”

“I have complete confidence in my ability to do so,” Chase said solemnly. “Especially if you testified that Riddler and Two-Face were deluded in their conflation of their objects of obsession.”

Spice considered this. “I don’t know what that means,” she said after a moment’s pause, “but if you give me a script, I’ll say it.” She brushed a strand of hair out of Sugar’s face, almost tenderly. “She will too. She’s an opportunistic bitch like that.”

Dick dropped back down from the platform above, holding an armful of mechanical parts. Everyone turned to stare at him.

“I didn’t know what was what,” he said, gesturing down to his bounty with his chin. “So I just grabbed everything that looked computery.” 

“Excellent,” Chase said, picking up a piece. She examined it, then returned it to Dick’s arms. “If I can get this working, I’ll be able to pre-emptively account for anything Nygma or Dent say in court.”

“What do you think, Bruce?” Dick asked, and the hope in his eyes made Bruce’s heart hurt. “Will this work?”

Bruce hesitated. Protecting his identity — and more importantly, Dick’s identity — was vital. But the plan Chase was proposing was an outright manipulation of the justice system Batman was supposed to protect. Not to mention that using Harvey’s illness to discredit him made Bruce sick to his stomach. He’d always hated lying to Harvey, even before his mental break as Two-Face had made it unavoidable. 

Harvey had to already feel betrayed that his best friend had secretly been the man pummeling him into submission upon every escape from Arkham. If their relationship wasn’t already irreparable, Chase’s plan would undoubtedly make it so. 

Glancing away from Harvey, Bruce caught sight of Edward, which didn’t make him feel any better. He hadn’t planned on honoring what he’d offered the Riddler to the letter, but there was no way he could twist participating in this as acting in Edward’s best interest. Manipulating the man’s obsession with him had been necessary in the moment, but using Edward’s feelings against him in the public arena? That felt more cruel than pragmatic. 

But there had never been any avoiding Edward’s arrest, not with Nygmatech’s direct involvement in Two-Face and the Riddler’s schemes. Bruce was willing to bet that any amount of digging would reveal that Edward’s initial funding had come from his and Harvey’s fenced bounty. And when Edward woke up in a jail cell, Bruce had no doubt that his willingness to “partner” with Batman would evaporate. Taking pre-emptive measures against an opponent as clever as the Riddler was clearly the only recourse. 

“There’s only way to find out,” Bruce said, and the relief on Dick’s face convinced him that he had made the right decision.

Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this fic doesn't wrap up at the end of the movie... I tried ending it like that in my original outline and it just. Did not work. So we've got some chapters to go. On the other hand, Sugar/Spice indulgence!


End file.
